


Illuminating Shadows

by AtoTheBean



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), London Spy
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arson, Bond is trying to qualify for real this time, M/M, Nightmares, Not SPECTRE Compliant, Polyamory, Post-London Spy, Post-Skyfall, Psychological Torture, Q is trying to sort out his new branch, all the sex, angst table, indirect mentions of the "T-word", no cats were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: In the aftermath of Skyfall, Q is busy rebuilding his branch, and Bond is busy rebuilding himself enough to qualify for service under this new M.But they uncover a mystery that has them questioning everything and everyone they thought they knew in MI6, and relying on each other as they tease out who is pulling the strings from the shadows.But shadows are funny things.  Sometimes you cast light into the shadows to solve a mystery; sometimes the shadows themselves illuminate something you did not know about yourself.
Relationships: Danny Holt/Alex Turner, James Bond & Q, James Bond/Q
Comments: 123
Kudos: 93
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first 00QAD. I first watched it back in November and was, of course, devastated. This inkling of an idea for a crossover started to form. Boffin1710 let me use him as a sounding board back then (thank you!), but then I just set those notes aside as I worked on other things. 
> 
> By the time I considered writing it for Fest, I was a bit hazy on some of the details of the LS canon (though large parts of it continue to haunt me). The folks in the 00QAD fandom have been WONDERFUL about looking things up for me, encouraging me, and welcoming me. Bloodsuitsandtears has been especially helpful, serving not only as a cheerleader but as a wonderful beta. THANK YOU!
> 
> I'm writing this for Fest and each chapter will cover a prompt or two from the angst prompt table. Chapter 1 fills "isolation" and "cave".
> 
> (Don't worry, I know the 00QAD rules and only intend to break the unimportant ones. I won't make Danny cry ~~except for maybe tears of joy~~ )
> 
> Also Happy Polyamory Day! (this fic will get there eventually)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Bloodsuitsandtears for their excellent beta work. This is my first time with 00QAD, and I so appreciate how supportive everyone has been about me bringing my shovel to a new sandbox.

“What’s this?” Q asks, pointing to yet another line item in the Q Branch budget he doesn’t recognize.

Moneypenny looks over his shoulder and then searches the name on her own laptop. “‘Guest Accommodations’? Nothing here by that name. What’s the A2 code?”

“0087243.”

“That doesn't show up either. I’ll add it to the list.”

They'd been at it for hours. Moneypenny, Mallory, and Q, trying to make sense of the wreckage of an agency they’d inherited. The explosion had killed or incapacitated a large number of people with the highest clearance, and with M gone now, too…

Tanner knew the major programs, and Q Branch had gotten backups up and running on new servers for all departments, but this is a secret service, and many of the new leads didn’t have clearance before the upheaval. And the predecessors who could have helped them transition and read them in are sadly not around to do so.

Q is good with puzzles, though. And Moneypenny has already learned parts of the budget and project management systems that mere mortals require weeks of training for. And of course, Mallory had known some things from his time on the oversight committee. But the devil is in the details, not the broad brushstrokes that M-the-former used when appearing before committees. And it’s no surprise that the devil has secrets.

Collectively they’ve found names of a dozen operations that they had to dig through high-clearance servers for even the vaguest of descriptions, but offering enough information to at least find out who in the agency was involved and piece things together. The problem was that many of the highest security operations had primarily paper files, and most of those had not survived the blast. Lower level missions and data had digital backups, but digital information for some missions seemed to have been purposefully separated and stored in different locations — not a bad idea so long as the people in charge had the locator key for all the parts.

Unfortunately, though Tanner had the key for most of them, there were the odd budget codes that didn’t seem to belong anywhere. And many of them seemed to fall under Research and Development.

“Why would Q Branch need to accommodate a guest anyway?” Q asks aloud to no one in particular. “We go out of our way _not_ to have guests in Q Branch.”

“Consultant?” Moneypenny suggests.

“Boothroyd hated consultants. And this is no ‘team lunch’ order. Are we keeping a consultant on retainer at the Savoy?”

“Does seem a bit dear,” Eve agrees. “Want me to run it by M?”

“He has enough on his plate trying to build up the Double-Oh program. I’ll dig a bit first. Maybe one of the R & D techs will remember something useful.”

No one does, though, he discovers a few hours later after finishing the budget meeting and heading back to the branch. It’s still a mess of pieced-together hodge-podge of equipment, but he’s rebuilding from the ground up and building in protections as he goes, and he feels oddly proud of the mess of wires and monitors and techs all working together. He’s been able to hire a lot of new, young, tech-savvy engineers and been allowed to offer early retirement to some of the old guard who felt passed over or just couldn’t work without M-the-former or the Major at the helm. Between the PTSD of the explosion, the scrutiny from the press, or sadness from losing so much so quickly, some opted to not be part of the “brave new world.” Q understands. He just wishes he didn’t have to chase so many ghosts as a result of the lack of institutional memory.

Though it does offer the freedom to axe the programs he no longer finds useful. R & D has a sizable budget, but nothing compared to a few decades ago, when there were some truly outlandish projects. How often does the need for an avalanche bubble really come up? Maybe his mystery code is something along those lines, and he can repurpose the funds to something more relevant.

So he digs. He searches the budget line items and sub-categories and sub-sub-categories for A20087243. There’s nothing else in the current quarter’s budget, so he digs through the year, pulling up scanned receipts attached to the 0087243 code. There are only three, featuring an address in Surrey. The first, from several months ago, includes a cryptic hand-written note “Pinocchio.”

He just adds it to the mass of mysteries he’s caught glimpses of since taking over the branch. His focus has been on rebuilding the computer systems and improving the surveillance and agent support. Old R & D projects with silly code names have been low on his list of priorities… is this some sort of AI project? Were they trying to make a “real boy”?

Damn. Now he’s intrigued. He pulls up the previous year’s budget and searches for the code again and… it’s everywhere. And nowhere. Or rather, it was very expensive — entries under this cost code for massive computer systems and experimental runs and report outs — but not actual computer systems that he can find on any inventory. No report. It’s as if Q Branch paid for a massive endeavor and then buried the results.

Except Q is still expected to pay for _something_. And he has no intention signing off on that part of the budget until he understands it.

“Q?” A soft knock on the door jamb pulls his attention away from the monitors.

“Bond,” he greets. “You aren’t headed out are you?”

“No, grounded still. Mallory insists I qualify ‘for real’ this time, and psych apparently wants to observe me for a while longer. Something about losing my family estate and mentor in one fell swoop. They worry I might be a bit unmoored and reckless.”

“More so than usual?”

Bond shrugs.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear it. They’ve been prodding at me as well — something about survivor’s guilt and the pressures of promotion and an unfortunate willingness to assist rogue agents.”

Bond’s lip quirks. “Were there others?”

“No, just you,” Q confirms. “And you were hardly going rogue. If M had ordered you to turn around, you would have.”

Bond offers a noncommittal shrug that seems very much like disagreement.

“Anyway, it was our best option. We didn’t know who the mole was.”

Bond tilts his head, and Q feels the weight of his assessing gaze. “Would you do it again?”

Q sighs. “Yes, but I would also try to get you back-up.”

“You would have tipped off the mole.”

“Not necessarily. And it might have made a difference. We might have saved M and… I’m sorry about your estate, Bond.”

Bond looks away. “It’s not even mine, anymore. Better for that moldering pile of rocks to go up in flames than have any more collateral damage in the city.”

“Perhaps,” Q sighs. It was hardly the worst tragedy of the Silva incident, but it felt like an insult to injury. “I’m sorry, was there something you needed, or did you just want a chat?”

Bond smirks and moves further into Q’s office. “I was just meeting with M, and when Miss Moneypenny learned I’d be coming down to give you these,” he hands Q another stack of folders, which Q accepts with a groan, “she asked me to find out if you’d solved your budget mysteries and had a final for her yet.”

“No patience, that lot,” Q complains. “And ‘errand boy’ seems a bit below your pay grade. Shouldn’t you be eschewing paperwork or flirting with techs and trying to abscond with prototypes?”

“Who says I’m not?”

Q rolls his eyes. “I have a lead on the mystery. An address I can check out and see what that expenditure is about. I’ll look into it tomorrow afternoon and have an answer Monday.”

“Shall I run that message up?” Bond asks with a grin.

“I’ll just send Miss Moneypenny an email, I think. But thank you.”

Bond loiters a bit more. “Are you expecting trouble?”

“With Eve?”

“No. At your mystery address.”

“Oh, I daresay I'll be safe enough in Surrey,” Q says, handing a slip of paper over with the address. “I suspect I’m paying for some remote, luxury suite that’s used occasionally to house VIPs, and I’d just as soon not carry it.”

Bond nods and hands back the paper. “Well, good luck. I have an appointment at the range in ten minutes. Best not make R wait.”

He starts to leave when Q calls out, “Bond.” Upon his look back, Q continues, “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the funeral, but I’m sorry about M.”

Bond puts his hands in his pockets. “You lost her, too.”

“I did,” Q acknowledges. “But I’m not sure what that means to me. I never got much past her armor. You knew her longer.”

“Doesn’t mean I knew her better; we just had more opportunity to annoy each other.”

It’s a deflection. Bond wouldn’t have taken her up to his family estate to try to protect her if he didn’t care, but Q sees something… complicated in his expression. They nod at each other, and he’s gone.

The next afternoon, Q leaves work early after a long week and drives southwest on the A3 until the city gives way to suburbs and then villages and then heaths. He turns down a gravel road half overgrown with weeds that cuts through a wood. It goes on for kilometers, and Q is sure this _can’t_ be right and is about to turn around when an opening appears and then a guarded gate in the side of a hill.

Q parks and observes the gate for a moment. Those rifles certainly look like they’re standard MI6 issue. He exits the car, grabs his courier bag, and approaches the gate, mustering all his authority. He’s found since his promotion that if he waves his Q ID badge at people, doors seem to open. This door is no exception. The guard waves him through, clearly trying to hide his curiosity. The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud, leaving him in a cool tunnel, dark enough that it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. The floors are concrete but the walls are hewn, cut by hand, god knows how many decades ago. Conduit runs along the ceiling, connecting periodic lights that lead him on. It’s musty and a bit neglected feeling, even compared to the old Churchill bunkers. The passage opens up into a natural cave with high, smooth ceilings making his steps echo. In the center is a station manned by someone in scrubs. A nurse or orderly, perhaps. Walls of cinder block line two sides of the cavern, no doubt creating smaller rooms behind the shut, steel doors. 

“Can I help you?” the orderly asks as Q approaches.

Q flashes his badge. “I’m the Quartermaster.”

“Oh,” she says, straightening up. “You’re here to see the detainee?”

“Uh, yes. And I’d like to see the current file.”

“Of course. We haven’t gotten new instructions on his care since the explosion. No visitors for _months_. But food kept being delivered and we weren’t told to stop coming to work, so we’ve just carried on as we had been. We did wonder if we’d been forgotten, though,” she adds cheerfully, getting up to pull the file.

“Ah, well, you know… there have been other priorities. But I’m glad to hear there hasn’t been an interruption in deliveries,” Q offers, hoping to keep the woman talking. What sort of detainee would be held in complete isolation, in a _cave_ in the middle of nowhere?

“Oh, yes. Though he’s not eating much these days,” she tuts as she hands Q a folder. “Do you want access to the electronic files as well?”

“Please,” he says, opening the folder. These are all medical records, and the _detainee_ isn’t faring well. The last report from a psychologist is from three months prior and… Q studies it, trying to make sense of what he’s reading. Psychotic break? Reconditioning? He digs back into the older entries and finds the detainee — John Smith — had been heavily sedated and restrained when he arrived and for much of his first month. He’s still on numerous drugs to keep him ’compliant’ though in looking at the names of the drugs, Q wouldn’t be surprised if they kept him rather confused.

“Here you go,” the orderly says, approaching with a laptop.

“The records aren’t on the servers?” Q asks, accepting the machine as she hands it over.

“I don’t know, sir, but the other Quartermaster… the old one… always asked for this.”

“I see. I’m still familiarizing myself with the… project.”

“Of course, sir. Just let me know when you’re ready and I can let you in.”

“Did he come often?” Q asks as he sits at a small table and opens the laptop.

“No, not often. Just with the others.”

“Of course,” Q said, wondering just what sort of project this was to have records “off the books”, so to speak. The laptop has a dual-authentication system just to unlock it — and probably passwords beyond that — and though Q’s ID card fits in the slot in the side of the computer, of course, his own passwords don’t work. He bites his lip and looks to see if the orderly is watching. He _could_ hack this, but he’d rather not have any spectators.

“I think I’ll see him, first,” Q ventures. “And he’s the only current… _detainee_?

“For as long as I’ve worked here, sir,” she says, standing and motioning for Q to follow. “We’re set up to handle more, but the facility’s understaffed. Just through here. Do you want me to call a guard?”

“Why would I need a guard? Is he dangerous?”

“Not that I’ve ever noticed. I find him quite sweet, if rather quiet. But the other visitors always insisted on a guard. I can call one from the front if you like.”

“No… I think I’ll be fine,” Q answers after a moment’s consideration. He’s not sure what to expect, but he’s positive he won’t want an audience.

She walks over to the closest door and keys in a five-digit code.

“You have a visitor, John,” she says cheerfully.

A man sits curled in a chair in the corner of the room. He doesn’t look up.

“Quiet, like I said,” she comments softly to Q. “I’ll be back at the desk if you need me. Just push this button.” She motions to a small panel to the left of the door. And with that, she’s gone.

Q looks around the room. It’s like a cross between the most depressing room in medical, the juvenile holding cells he'd visited in his youth, and something from a bad spy movie. It’s windowless and without so much as a telly for entertainment. One wall appears to be the native cave wall, and the other three are painted cinder block, and Q can almost feel the heat seeping out his pores.

Scribbled writing covers one of the walls, and Q realizes it’s _code_. He takes out his phone, surprised to find he has service, and takes several pictures to capture it all so he can analyze later.

“Hello,” he says softly to the man, more and more curious about the “guest” his branch is “housing.”

The man looks up, startled. And his face is vaguely familiar _._

“Danny?”

Q stares as emotions flit across the man's expression. Confusion and disbelief and amazement and _hope_.

And it hits him. “Why on earth would SIS be holding a sadomasochist in a secret, secure location under a false name?” he asks of no one, because he's seen this face… it was all over the papers several months back when Q wasn’t Q yet but merely a tech trying to overhaul the servers and firewalls… too late as it turned out.

“Danny! Oh my god, Danny! They told me you were dead. They told me—”

And the man who had appeared almost catatonic moments ago is up and across the room and _kissing_ Q before he can quite register what’s happening.

Christ, he's a good kisser. Or it’s just been too fucking long since—

“I’m not Danny,” Q insists, pushing the man away firmly and holding him at arm’s length by the shoulders, breathing heavily. “I don’t know—”

But the man doesn't seem to hear. Or believe him. “What have they done to you? It’s _me_. Danny. It’s _Alex_. Did you get the drive I hid for you? They came for me and wouldn’t let me see you. Then they… they _killed_ me… or said they did... and brought me... here.”

That… that makes no sense. “Who came for you?”

“All of them. MI5, MI6. Mother was there. I just… I tried to tell them that I’d stop working on it. That I'd give up SIS. All I wanted was to get back to you but… but…” He’s shaking now. Not crying exactly, but unable to catch his breath.

This is not the cold, calculating sexual dominant that the papers had described. This man... Q glances at the code on the walls. He worked for SIS? He was... god, had he been _in_ Q Branch?

“Okay, look," Q says, grasping the man's shoulders again. "I don't know who Danny is, but I want to help. I’m the Quartermaster of MI6, and I—”

The man — Alex — reels back. “No," he says, absolute horror on his face. "No. You _can’t_ be the Quartermaster. He’s an old man, a mean… Was it a trick? Oh god, were you in on it all along? From the beginning? I’m such an idiot.” He looks at the cave ceiling as tears well in his eyes, shaking his head as he wraps his arms around his torso.

“I wasn’t in on it," Q assures him gently. "I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m going to—”

“I’m here because of what I know. What I can do,” he fumbles, motioning to the code on the walls. “The project. I’m sorry I never told you," he looks at Q, pleading for understanding. "They… MI6 didn’t want me to have ties to anything other than the work.” He looks almost frantic. Confused and distraught. “And then... and then they didn’t want the work. And I'm not even bothered anymore. I just want you, but… but you’re not you. You're... and I don’t know…” He freezes and his eyes go unfocused as his arms clutch himself more tightly. “No. Danny would never lie to me. This is another hallucination.” He looks back up at Q, studying him. “You’re not Danny,” he accuses softly.

“I’m not,” Q answers, happy to at least have that sorted. “But I’m still not going to leave you here.”

He pulls out his personal phone and dials a number he should _not_ have memorized.

Bond answers after the first ring.

“Don’t say my name,” Q says, waiting for Bond to register his voice.

“Okay.”

“You remember the address?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“...I’m guessing this is not official.”

“Not even remotely.”

Q holds his breath during the pause.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the "lies" and "trace" prompts of the angst table.
> 
> Thanks again to bloodsuitsandtears for the beta help, and to everyone for commenting!

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” James says, coming in from the guest room.

Q slides a bottle of scotch over to the empty seat at the table. There’s already a glass waiting.

Bond sits and pours himself a finger and downs it in one go, and then pours himself another.

“What have you found?”

Q grimaces and takes another sip of his scotch. He’s got two laptops in front of him. The one he took from the facility is connected to a brute-force password cracker of his own invention and a copy of Boothroyd’s ID badge with hacked credentials that indicate that the man isn’t dead and still has his old access. Q got so tired of being denied access to systems he _clearly_ needed without going through eight layers of approval that he just… created a shortcut. He _is_ the Quartermaster. He should have access to everything the old Quartermaster had.

The other laptop is his personal one, which is currently running a VPN bouncing his signal around the globe and showing it originating in Croatia. He’s not sure what he’s going to find, but he’s read enough in the paper file to be damned sure he doesn’t want any eyes at -6 monitoring him. That means he’s going to have to be very careful. He takes another sip of scotch.

“That bad, huh?” Bond asks.

Q shakes his head. “I hardly know. Until I hack _that_ I won’t know what we’re up against. But I’m confident it won’t be the sort of thing we’d find in even the _appendix_ of one of the government reports sent up to Cabinet.”

“So we’re keeping secrets from ourselves?”

“I don’t yet know who ‘we’ are… or ’ourselves’ for that matter. But yes. And Old Boothroyd was definitely involved, and M-the-former likely was as well. And that might mean it was on the up and up, and just fell through the cracks because everyone who was read in died in the explosion. Or, it could be that M-the-former and Boothroyd were involved in something unsavory. _I_ certainly wasn’t read in. Until I find out what this is, I don’t really want to go to current M. If he doesn’t know about it, I need to understand it enough to explain. If he _knows_ … well, we’ll cut that fence when we get there.”

Bond takes a sip of his scotch, raising his eyebrows as he considers Q’s words. “Do you think you’ll be okay for an hour or so while I grab a go-bag? I think he’ll likely sleep that long.”

“What do you mean? You’re not staying…”

“Well, I’m certainly not leaving my Quartermaster alone with someone we just broke out of a high-security, secret facility. I’ll be your bodyguard until we can get this sorted.”

“But…” Q falters. “I only have the one spare room.”

“I’ll kip on the sofa,” Bond offers. “This isn’t really negotiable, Q. We don’t know enough about him to know he won’t become violent. And with him thinking you’re someone you’re not…”

“Okay, you’re right.” Q feels a bit overwhelmed. He hadn't expected house guests.

“I’ll bring back some dinner, too, so you can focus on your work. Is the Indian place around the corner any good?”

“Oh… yes, it is, actually. And they know my usual orders, if you want to tell them it’s for Micah. In fact, I could call it in,” Q offers.

“Order two of everything you like and ask for it to be ready in an hour. I suspect we’ll want leftovers handy.”

By the time Bond returns an hour later carrying a hefty duffle over his shoulder and two plastic bags of take-away, Q is famished.

“Has he stirred?” Bond asks as they lay out the food and plate it up.

“Not yet,” Q answers, “but this aroma might draw him out if he’s awake. He had a number of drugs in his system… I’ve researched them a bit, and I don’t expect issues with him coming off them all at once, but I thought about what you said about him becoming dangerous. I grabbed my taser from my bag, just in case. If nothing else, he might be pretty disoriented when he wakes up, and that might set him off.”

Bond nods, grabbing a piece of naan and tearing it. “It depends on how the drugs affect his memory. He seemed willing enough to come with us when you explained you weren’t part of the team that had known about his work. That everything had been lost with the explosion.”

“True. But I don’t actually _know_ that everything’s been lost. _Buried,_ yes. But _lost_ …” Q shakes his head.

“Have you had any luck with that?” Bond asks, nodding at the old laptop they retrieved from the facility.

“It’s definitely from Q Branch,” Q sighs. “Fortunately, my predecessor wasn’t as random in his password selection as I am.”

“You’re in?” Bond asks, smiling.

“I’m in, but… it has several partitions, and each of those is protected as well. But that’s not the mystery.”

“What’s the mystery?”

Q takes another bite of his Tikka Masala, thinking. “The real mystery is that the drive appears to be full, despite the fact that the partitions I can see only appear to use about half the space the drive should have.”

“What does that mean?”

Q shrugs, taking another bite. “I suspect it means I’ll be up all night trying to access a hidden partition without tripping an autodestruct. I also suspect that someone other than my predecessor set it up, and I’m very curious to see if I’ll recognize any fingerprints of my team.”

“Do you know your team well enough already for that?” Bond asks, surprised.

“The coders. A lot of them, anyway. I’ve been working with some of them for a few years on various projects, and while most of them have fairly standard approaches, some have little… tells almost. Ways they tend to approach certain types of projects. Shortcuts. Personal libraries of code that they mix and match for different applications.”

“What have you been doing with the other one?” Bond asks, nodding at Q’s personal computer.

“Looking at news articles from the time of Alex’s 'death' while I waited for the password to be cracked. I’m going to have to leave off that, now.”

“Maybe I can pick that up after dinner,” Bond suggests. “I can manage research and free you up to crack the machine.”

“And hack into our servers,” Q says glumly.

“Can you? I thought you’ve gotten them tighter.”

“I have done,” Q says rubbing his forehead. “Which is going to make it quite a bit more challenging. But if I’m going to be digging into things that powerful people might not want to be dug up, I’d rather not have the inquiry include neon signs with my badge number and certificates, lest I end up in a cell in a cave, myself.”

Bond seems unhappy with that possibility. “We’ll keep a low profile for the time being,” he agrees. “I doubt Moneypenny would have been involved, but if you’re worried about M…”

“She’s gotten rather close with him, yes. I think we need to keep this between ourselves for now. Off the books, so to speak.”

Bond takes a sip of his scotch, lips quirking. “Q, I do believe I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

He snorts. “You have no idea what I got up to in my misspent youth.”

The surprised and somewhat intrigued look on Bond’s face makes Q snort another laugh.

They clear up the meal and get busy, Bond researching what he can in the online papers using his own tablet, and Q working on the machine partitions. Working in companionable silences except for some soft music, Q is able to tease apart bits of the puzzle, layers of the encryption, until he’s able to access the first set of files.

These appear to be psyche evaluations, and at first Q is disappointed, but then he notices that the dates are from the time of Alex’s disappearance, and the transcripts attached don't really include questions that would be part of a typical psychological evaluation... it's more like psychological warfare… gaslighting. They were trying to convince Alex that he’d imagined his personal life. That Danny was actually a Russian operative trying to steal his research. Meanwhile, Alex just kept promising to drop the work, forget all about it if they would _just_ let him go. Q reaches across the table to his tablet so he can make some notes. Some of the words that keep getting used about the research sound like code, so he jots them down. 

The password for the next partition is cracked, and Q delves into those folders, groaning as he discovers they’re mostly budget reports from the last four years. There’s something odd about them, though. It takes Q a bit to notice, but he finally concludes they’ve been tampered with. The lines for that same A2 Code he discovered Alex with — 0087243 — have been changed since their original entry. The cells are large. Autosized to fit several lines of text, despite the fact that there are now only a few words. And some of the budget numbers have extra digits, as though they were hastily entered and never reviewed.

He switches to his personal machine and starts hacking the servers he’s just spent the last few months restoring and shoring up. He hates to do it, and it’s actually fucking hard — which is good he supposes — but needs must. If anyone notices he’s in there, he can always claim that he was testing the system. He starts poking at the seams in the protection he handed off to others, hoping to chip his way in. It takes well over an hour, which is terrible as well as a relief. He’s already tired and doesn’t think he can hack all night. He starts a trace on the A2 code, the words he identified in the transcripts, and the budget line item he still had on his budget, focusing not only on the current version of the servers, but months of backups.

He stands and stretches while the search runs, padding into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Who knows how long they’re going to be at it. Bond seems completely immersed as well. He makes two cups of Earl Grey and brings them back to the table.

“That’s not scotch,” Bond mutters, accepting his.

“So observant. You must be one of those spies I keep hearing about,” Q answers absently as he reviews the results coming in. Curiously, he opens two files with identical names from different servers.

That… that shouldn’t be…

Bond swears softly at his own screen.

“What?” Q asks.

James just turns the tablet to face Q. The cover of the Daily Mail showing a large color picture of Danny Holt.

“Bugger me,” Q gasps.

Bond doesn’t take the opening. “It’s no wonder he thought you were his long lost lover. Sure you don’t have a twin brother?”

Q takes the tablet, staring at the photo for a moment and then scanning the article. The silence stretches.

“Q?” Bond tries tentatively. “I was just joking. I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t know,” Q admits quietly. Looking up at Bond’s surprised expression, he adds, “I was raised in-care since… well, memory, really. Group homes. I suppose if I _had_ a brother, we’d have come in at the same time, and they would have tried to keep us together, but…” He shrugs, staring at the photo. The article is raking the poor man over the coals, painting him as a druggie tart who should be condemned and disbelieved, but Q feels a tug of compassion for him. There’s something so sad about his eyes...

“What have _you_ found?” James asks, cautiously, as if he’s worried about disturbing Q’s reverie.

Q sighs and turns back to his own screen. “Lies,” he says. “Layers and layers of lies. An entire research program deleted and written over with something innocuous. Though, ironically, the most innocuous word is associated with a note on the original files.”

“What’s that?” Bond asks.

Q shakes his head, still not quite believing it. “Pinocchio.”

A soft snort startles them. Bond has his gun drawn on Alex before Q’s even turned around.

“Sorry,” Bond says, raising his hands to match Alex’s, the gun dangling harmlessly from his trigger finger.

Alex wraps his arms around his torso and takes a steadying breath. “I shouldn’t have startled you,” he acknowledges. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure I was allowed out here. But the door wasn’t locked...”

“You have free rein in the flat,” Q assures him softly, “except my bedroom and office.” He sighs, realizing how inadequate that is. “I’m sure you have no reason to trust us, but I really think for your own safety, it’s best you not leave the flat for the time being. I’m not sure who knows you’re alive, or what they might do if they found you roaming London. I can get you anything you need while I suss out what we’re up against.”

Alex hugs himself a bit tighter. “I pretty much decided on the car ride to London that anyone willing to break me out of that place was worth trusting a bit. But you should know, we’re up against all of MI5 and MI6.”

Q and Bond look at each other.

“I really am the Quartermaster at MI6,” Q asserts gently, looking back at Alex. “And I never signed on for “disappearing” British nationals. And this is one of MI6’s _best_ agents — though you shouldn’t say it too often because it goes to his head — so no, we’re not up against _all_ of MI6. No doubt whomever we _are_ up against is powerful and secretive and used to getting away with things. But that doesn’t mean they will. And I rather suspect some of the people who did this to you may have perished in the explosion, which is why you were left in that cell with no visitors for months.”

“Explosion?”

Bond pulls up an article entitled “Terrorism Strikes at the Heart of British Intelligence” and hands the tablet over to Alex.

“Are you peckish?” Bond asks as Alex starts to read. “We picked up some curry earlier. Or if that doesn’t suit, there’s probably an all-night Tesco I could head out to. I also brought an extra tracksuit from home if you want to get out of your government-issued jumpsuit. I think we’re about the same size. I can try to get you some proper clothing tomorrow when the shops open.”

“I… yes. Thank you,” Alex says, looking up from the tablet. “ I’d appreciate wearing… not this. And curry is fine. Actual food... _any_ actual food… would be... I’ve had rations for what feels like months. And maybe something for a headache?” he asks, rubbing his brow.

“The cabinet to the left of the sink, Bond,” Q says, and Bond nods and makes for the kitchen. Q motions for Alex to join him at the table and adds, “How _are_ you feeling?”

“I’m, uh… I’m not sure,” Alex admits, taking a seat. “It’s like I’m in a dream. Or waking from a dream... I’m not sure which. And you’re Danny, but not Danny. And MI6, but not _my_ MI6…”

“It’s a bit ‘Alice Through the Looking Glass’,” Q admits. “It’s perfectly natural that you’d feel a bit… off balance.”

Alex still has his arms wrapped protectively near his middle as he looks around the flat and then down at the tablet on the table. “It’s strange.”

Bond comes to the table carrying water and paracetamol. “You might need to be more specific,” he says.

“It’s just… so normal. I feel almost like it was all a nightmare. But I’m wearing the jumpsuit, so it must have been real.”

“It was real. But they had you on sedatives, so your memories might be a bit...scattered,” Q says. “I didn’t really think this through; you probably ought to be seen by Psych, but I just needed—”

“No Psych,” Alex insists, eyes wide.

“Well, at least we’re all agreed on that,” Bond says, placing a warm plate of food in front of Alex. “Eat what you can. Coming back from the dead takes energy. Trust me on this one.”

Alex gives Bond a confused look, but does as he’s told, taking a bite and then groaning in happiness at the taste.

After several bites, Alex eyes Q’s computers. “Why are you hacking MI6’s servers if you’re the Quarterma— oh. Don’t want them to realize you’re looking for my research.”

Q raises an impressed eyebrow.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck,” Alex says, taking another bite.

“Not much,” Q admits. “Seems odd. Even canceled projects should have reports associated with them. I can’t even find a project name. Just ‘Pinocchio’, which hardly seems official.”

“It’s not,” Alex says with a huff, “but it’s not a bad code name. Try QALPOD.”

“What’s that mean,” Q asks as he types it in.

“Quantum Algorithms for Linguistic Pattern of Deception,” Alex states, tearing a piece of na'an and dipping it in the curry.

Q looks up abruptly. “You were developing a better lie detector?”

“Hence, ‘Pinocchio’,” Alex says.

“It worked?” James asks sitting across the table.

“Too well,” Alex admits. “Well enough that it scared people. Well enough that they decided it had to disappear.”

“And you along with it,” Q surmises.

Alex nods, taking another bite.

“I’m curious if you’ve found any of the files,” Alex says.

“Not yet,” Q admits. “More like the hole where they once were, or… glimpses of the shadow they used to cast.”

“They told me they’d delete it so well not even _that_ would be visible. You’ve done well to notice that much.”

“So, it’s lost? We have no way of proving what they were trying to hide.”

“From what I’ve overheard, you’ve already uncovered a lot. Paired with what I managed to save and hide, it might get us there.”

Q’s outlook brightens. “And where did you hide it?”

“With the only person in the world I actually trust.” He looks at Q earnestly. “You said you’d get me anything I need. Can you get Danny?”

Q smiles and looks at Bond, who smiles back gleefully.

“I’ll just put the kettle on again, shall I?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers "turn" and "free space" (we'll call it 'reunion') prompts of the angst table.
> 
> Thanks again to bloodsuitsandtears for the beta help, and to everyone for commenting!

They spend the next week looking for Danny.

Bond and Alex piece together events from the papers and tabloids, Alex becoming increasingly distraught over Danny’s treatment in the news.

Not to mention his own.

“They tried to make him think I’d lied to him all along," Alex complains. "What if he believed it? What if he thinks I’m this… this Dom with a sex room in my attic?”

“From what you’ve described of your relationship, that doesn’t seem likely,” Bond assures him.

They sit side by side on the sofa looking through printouts of articles, piecing together a timeline: when Danny was fired, when he lost his flat, when it was announced to the world that he was HIV positive...

Q finds it odd having his solitary life suddenly crashed by two handsome men, and yet feeling like _he’s_ the third wheel. Alex turns more and more to Bond as the week goes by. And more and more, he winces when he looks at Q.

Q tries not to take it personally, sure it’s just his resemblance to Danny and nothing that he’s done himself to cause it. But it’s still jarring.

Bond’s already checked all the old haunts Alex told him about. He has time. He’s still grounded, and though he goes into the office to work out and check-in, this new M is infuriatingly by-the-books regarding allowing him any leeway on the tests. And actually, neither Q nor Bond particularly minds for the moment, since they are happy to have Bond running their own 'missions'. Psych is running pretty much everyone a -6 through careful assessments after the Skyfall ordeal and the loss of Mansfield. They’re all trying to get their balance in this new order. If Q and Bond seem a bit distracted, no one is really noticing.

Q has had a bit more luck at work. Monday he signs off on the budget.

“Ever chase down those line items that were giving you trouble?” Miss Moneypenny asks.

“Hmm?” Q feigns confusion. “Oh. Not really, but enough to know I can’t delete them. Some joint thing with MI5. Honestly, it’s not enough money to worry about, anyway. M’s got me far too busy prepping 003’s mission now to chase it down more than that.”

He watches her reaction for signs that she’s testing him, but she’s as harried as he is, and seems to be satisfied with the answer. Q _is_ quite busy at work, but since part of what he’s doing is restructuring the branch, looking up the names of the agents Alex gave him — the ones that decided he was too much of a risk, staged his death, and locked him away — proves relatively easy.

Actually _finding_ said agents is a bit harder.

Alex gave him twelve names. Frances Turner, his mother, retired from the service a week or so before the explosion. Alex isn’t sure whether she’s aware he’s alive, or if the theatrics associated with staging his death were in part for her benefit. Q doesn’t dare reach out to her yet.

The former M and Quartermaster have perished, of course. Q’s research indicates that another two agents on Alex’s list were in Vauxhall Cross at the time of the explosion and are gone. Another has died since then while on mission, and an MI5 agent was lost in the shootout during the cabinet meeting in which Mansfield’s life was threatened.

That leaves three that they know of. Two are likely MI5 agents — the names aren’t anywhere on Q’s rolls, new or old. The other they only know by a code name: The Puppeteer.

It sounds like something out of a bad spy film… not the real day-to-day existence of working in the service.

And that doesn’t account for who else might have known about it. For all the secrecy in the secret service, there is also a rampant rumor mill.

Unfortunately, Miss Moneypenny seems to be at the center of said rumor mill, and he isn’t sure about her yet, so he keeps his queries and his cards close to the chest.

He also accesses some personal funds from a previous life and purchases enough equipment that Bond and Alex both stare wide-eyed when he brings it home. Most of it is added security for the flat: active counter-surveillance measures to ensure no one outside the flat can listen in, new layers of perimeter security... No one but himself and M should be getting alerts on his security — and M is really only bothered if an alarm is set to notify him if his Quartermaster has been abducted — but Q adds more encryption to the logs as well as alerts to notify him if anyone other than himself tries to look at them. He hates feeling he can't trust his colleagues at -6, but there are clearly people working there with dubious handles on ethics.

Bond catches on quickly to what Q is trying to accomplish at the flat and starts to help, making regular circuits around the building and a perimeter a block or so out before coming home every day, to make sure all’s quiet. He also deigns to allow Q in his ear on some of these personal missions, using their own equipment, of course — Q isn’t bringing home _anything_ from Q Branch these days. Q even starts scanning himself for bugs that might have been planted on him in the office before getting into his car. It might be paranoid, but Q _feels_ a bit paranoid, the more he learns of Alex’s situation.

He comes home Friday evening to find Bond and Alex on the sofa, Bond cradling Alex’s head against his chest.

Freezing at the sight, he asks, “What’s happened?”

Alex sits up abruptly and pulls away from James, wiping his eyes. “I’m going to have a shower,” he announces, looking embarrassed as he leaves.

Q watches him slip down the hall and turns back to Bond.

“He doesn’t like me.”

“That’s not it,” Bond says, rising to take Q’s bag so he can remove his coat.

“He’s more comfortable with you,” Q says, feeling oddly envious… of whom he’s not sure.

“He is,” Bond admits, “but then, I don’t remind him of his lost lover. Danny was his first, did you know? And the more time that goes by, the more he worries that Danny is already dead, or in some holding cell of his own. He just woke up from a nightmare where they had put Danny in a trunk and asphyxiated him. His reactions aren’t about you, Q. He’s very grateful to you.”

Q supposes that will have to do. Bond is still watching him closely.

“Is everything okay?” Bond asks gently. “Did something happen at work?”

“Everything’s fine,” Q sighs, dismissing the strange longing that’s settled in his chest. “I’m just... tired and feeling paranoid. I’m sure the vast majority of people at -6 have no idea about this, aren’t involved, wouldn’t approve, but I find myself second-guessing everyone I interact with. It’s maddening.”

“Caution is a good thing,” Bond says. “We need to protect ourselves, and you’re particularly exposed. I’m glad you’re being careful.”

“That seems an unlikely sentiment coming from you,” Q says. “You never seem to heed my advice that _you_ should be careful.”

Bond just offers him a small grin. “I was going to make some pasta for dinner. Maybe I’ll open the wine now and let it breathe in our glasses.”

Q huffs a laugh, but admits a glass of wine sounds lovely. “I was hoping you could help me with something later as well.”

“Of course,” James says as he opens the bottle of wine. “What did you have in mind?”

“We haven’t had luck tracking Danny through his known haunts, and we don’t want to tip our hand asking too overtly.”

“Right.”

“And we don’t have good pictures of him for facial recognition software.”

“We’ve found a few online, but I agree, they’re grainy, and the shot Scotland Yard has seems designed to make him look as threatening as possible. Not ideal.”

“I was thinking, we could take pictures of me… I even have some old ones of myself with a beard… and then filter out places I’ve actually been. And I could hack the Scotland Yard CCTV for the city and...see what we get.”

Bond gives him a look that he can’t quite interpret. “That sounds very promising. Dinner first, though.”

It surprises Q how domestic Bond is. He’s a very good cook, and though he’s generally negligent of his gear on missions, Q finds he takes great care of things in Q’s flat. Q’s gotten rather used to him being around, but it’s never obtrusive. James always pulls the bedclothes from the sofa and stows them away before Q is even up. His toiletries are seldom left out in the bathroom… It’s a reminder that Bond was in the Navy, but also that Bond considers himself a _guest_. Which is a good thing for Q to remember. He lives alone. The current situation of a flat full of companions familiar with his work — Alex does join them after his bath, apologizing to Q for his hasty retreat — is not the usual state of his life. This is temporary. And once the threat is neutralized, James and Alex will no doubt be on their way.

Q tries to concentrate on enjoying the company and worrying about the challenge at hand. Long-term planning is for people in different professions.

They finish dinner, clean up, and Q gets to work hacking, setting up on the kitchen table. He’s somewhat self-conscious as Bond takes several pictures with his phone, forwarding them to Q so he can add them to the face recognition search function. Thirty days of CCTV data are meant to be saved, but much of it is still analog tapes stored in actual facilities... not particularly conducive to electronic searches. Q hacks into the servers for Home Office and grabs the data from 20 cameras around the city, focusing in neighborhoods Danny has frequented in the past. It’s too dark to worry about live feeds for now, but he has things ready to start in the morning. He starts the facial recognition program and puts the screen to sleep.

Looking around after he’s not sure how much time has passed, he realizes that Alex is missing and Bond has made up his bed and is reading in it.

“James, I’m sor… I could have moved to the office. What time is it?”

James smiles at him. “Half-past midnight. And don’t worry about keeping me up. You were in the zone, and if push comes to shove, I can sleep anywhere I feel safe, lights and keyboard clacking or no.”

Q isn’t sure what to say to that, considering James has been sleeping here a week. Pleased that James feels safe with him, perhaps. “Alex went to bed?”

“He’s not been sleeping well,” Bond confides. “I hear him getting up in the night.”

Q nods. He’s having a very difficult time not staring at Bond’s bare chest. “I should go to bed,” he announces. “I’ve turned the sound off, so other than the noise of the fan and the disc being accessed… uh, do you want me to move it into the office?”

“It’s fine, Q,” James says, his amusement clear. “I’ll see you in the morning. Hopefully, we’ll have a lead.”

“Goodnight,” Q says, feeling slightly flushed as he makes his way down the hall.

He’s the last one up in the morning, feeling groggy and a bit grumpy as he makes his way into the kitchen for tea when he sees the computer and remembers. He’s sitting at it and reviewing results grunting an answer to the “good mornings” coming from Alex and James. A few minutes later, Q has gone through half the “best” matches — still only at 40% similarity — and rejected them as definitely not Danny. A cup of tea appears to his left, and a plate of toast and marmalade on his right. He looks up to see both Alex and James looking expectantly.

“Nothing yet,” he says. “But thanks for breakfast.”

He’s vaguely aware of them cleaning up as he goes through the rest of the hits when he freezes, mug halfway to his mouth.

“Alex?” he calls, because if he didn’t know better, he’d say he’d just caught a glimpse of _himself_ crossing the road.

“That’s him,” Alex announces when Q replays the footage. “Where is he?”

“Where _was_ he,” Q corrects, confirming the camera identity and time stamp. “Three days ago he was in East London. Barking, I think… I have to cross-reference the camera locations list to be sure... unless you can read any street signs.”

Alex shakes his head, but Bond points to the building in the background. “That’s a church,” he says. “An old one... I can't quite make out the name.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down terribly much, but it’s a start. If I can make out that sign... At the very least I can refocus the program on live feeds from Barking and Dagenham now that it’s daylight again.”

They’re all antsy the rest of the day. Bond’s plans to go shopping are on hold in case he needs to be sent out. Q has replicated their usual comm system at home, and Bond gets so jittery he starts cleaning his gun. Q's also set up a map with all of the camera-feeds they’re accessing to make it easier to track the feeds in real-time.

The computer finally pings at half-past five.

“Is it him?” Alex asks, moving to the screen. Q catches a glimpse of a profile before the man that caused the alert turns away. It’s a bit grainy and hard to tell. He grabs another feed and takes a moment to find the man from this new angle. It’s not much better. Danny — if this is Danny — is keeping his head down and—”

“He knows where the cameras are,” Bond surmises. “He’s aware someone might be looking for him.

“All the more reason that _we_ need to be the ones to find him,” Q says. “I need him to _turn_ so we have a clear view.”

“I don’t,” Alex says. “That’s him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I know his walk,” Alex says simply.

“James?”

“I’m on my way,” he says, putting the comm in his ear.

It takes an hour to direct Bond and keep tabs on Danny, but they finally catch up with him.

“Danny!” they hear Bond call through the comms, and on the screen, the man finally turns and offers them a clear picture of his face.

It’s weird as hell seeing his face on someone else, but there’s no doubt this is him. Alex sits beside Q, nearly vibrating.

“Who are you?” Danny’s suspicious voice comes over the mic.

“We have a mutual friend who’s anxious to be reunited with you.”

Pain flickers across Danny’s face. “That’s sick,” he accuses. “You’re one of them, aren’t you. Were you there when he died? Think you can offer me false hope and lure me somewhere so you can do the same to me? It won’t work. I’m going to make you all pay. I have friends—”

“I’m a friend—”

“No, you’re an _agent_ , clearly, and I’m not going—”

“Tell him we’re not soulmates,” Alex blurts out.

“He says you’re soulmates,” Bond relays.

“ _Not_ soulmates—” Alex corrects.

“He would _never_ say that!” Danny protests, wiping his eye and glaring defiantly.

“Not soulmates,” Bond amends, clearly confused.

“Tell him ‘one’,” Alex says.

“You won?” Bond asks, touching the earpiece and glancing down.

“No," Alex clarifies, speaking very clearly as he continues, "0000001.”

Bond looks at Danny. “He says to tell you... ‘one’? Zero, zero, zero—”

Danny’s eyes widen and he rushes up to Bond. “He’s alive? Where is he?”

“Shh. Not here. I’ll take you.”

Thirty minutes later, Bond opens the door and ushers a very confused Danny into Q’s flat. Q feels the shock of being face to face with a doppelganger. Danny doesn’t even _notice_ Q, he’s so stunned by Alex’s presence.

“You’re alive?” Danny asks, stumbling up to Alex and cupping his face incredulously. “How is it you’re alive? Where have you been?”

“It’s a long st—”

But Danny cuts the explanation off with a kiss. And Alex kisses back, wrapping his arms around Danny so tightly Q's surprised he can still breathe. Q isn't sure if they are laughing or sobbing between kisses, but it's clear... well, it's clear that Q won't be getting any answers about Danny any time soon. And then Danny jumps and wraps his legs around Alex’s hips and—

“Let’s give them some privacy, shall we?” Bond murmurs in Q’s ear.

“But… yes, okay. Perhaps that’s for the best.”

“I’m taking Q to dinner, Alex,” James calls in the direction of the sofa. “Neither you nor Danny are to leave the flat, okay? We’re setting the alarm.”

Alex waves them off and wraps both arms around Danny again.

“How does Thai sound,” Bond asks Q, taking Q’s coat from the closet and holding it open for him as Q distractedly watches Danny and Alex. “I found a new place during one of my recons I’m interested in trying.”

“What?” Q asks, finally slipping his arms in the coat.

James just chuckles and leads him out the door. “Come on, Q. I don’t think they need an audience.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills the Blaze and Siren prompts of the Angst Table.
> 
> So much thanks to Bloodsuitsandtears for betaing, and to Boffin for helping me with some UK government questions.
> 
> And oh look, a chapter in my crossover for crossover day...

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Bond asks after they order their food.

“Does what make me uncomfortable?”

“Sex?” Bond whispers, lips quirking.

“Why on earth would sex make me uncomfortable?”

Bond shrugs. “You seemed a bit shocked is all.”

“And I suppose you see that and assume I’m some virgin you can tease. A stereotypically awkward boffin who never could make a go of it, just—”

“Stop,” Bond insists quietly, reaching a hand out to touch Q’s arm. “I’m just curious. I wouldn’t tease. Asexuality is a thing, after all… I have valued friends who are asexual.”

Q sighs, allowing his defensiveness to slip away. It’s not Bond’s fault that he misunderstood Q’s staring; they still don’t know each other _that_ well, even with all they’ve learned recently. “I suppose I have a small preference that they make their way into the guest room rather than make use of the sofa… but no, considering that each thought the other might be dead, I think it’s rather... charming now that I’m not in the same room. What about you? Some straight men find it uncomfortable to be in the presence of overt displays of—”

“What makes you think I’m straight?” Bond interrupts, taking a sip of his pint.

Q studies him for a moment. “Poor assumptions, I suppose. And statistically speaking, most men are.”

“Statistically speaking, most agents are more flexible than most men,” Bond counters.

“By choice?”

“By self-selection. The ones who _aren’t_ tend not to advance. At least in this day and age.”

That gives Q food for thought.

“So would you consider yourself… no nevermind.”

Bond raises an eyebrow.

“It’s rather personal. Certainly not an appropriate question from your Quarter—” He looks around, realizing he should be more careful. “From me.”

“Q,” Bond says softly, leaning forward and resting his arms against the table. “We each know what the other wears to bed. And how we take our tea and whether it’s a good idea to expect a verbal response before said tea. I daresay, we’ve moved beyond a ‘strictly professional’ relationship. Perhaps going as far back as when you agreed to spread some breadcrumbs for me… Certainly from the time I agreed to meet you at an address I’d merely glanced at after a clandestine phone call.”

Damn. Q can feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Ask your question,” Bond insists.

Q licks his lips, noticing the way it draws Bond’s gaze. “What would you consider your sexuality, then?” Q asks softly, an odd flutter in his stomach because, no, he never anticipated having this particular conversation with this particular man.

Bond takes another sip of his pint, as if savoring the anticipation. “I generally identify as pansexual, but I’m not really offended to be considered bi. It just seems needlessly binary. You?”

Surprised both at Bond’s candor and his own desire to reciprocate, Q mirrors Bond and sips from his own pint, collecting his thoughts. “I haven’t been with a woman since I was a teen and still sorting myself out,” he admits quietly.

Bond raises an eyebrow, smiling.

Q shrugs. “Horny teens in group homes experiment. It didn’t take me long to sort my preferences.”

Now both of Bond’s eyebrows are raised in a look that is clearly wanting details, but the food arrives and he stays quiet.

“Is it strange for you?” Bond asks.

“What? Locating my doppelganger and then having him climb my houseguest like a tree?” Q asks, stabbing at a piece of Thai eggplant with his fork. “No, that sort of thing happens to me all the time.”

“Well, at least you’re handling it with your usual aplomb,” James responds, offering a small smile. “It’s pretty uncanny.”

“You have a remarkable gift for understatement, Bond.”

“James.”

“What?”

“I’m buying you dinner while we hide out from our flatmate having sex in the sitting room. I’d like you to call me James.”

“Oh.” Q feels a bit flustered. “I can’t really respond in kind,” he says apologetically.

“I understand.”

They finish their meal and start walking back toward the flat, slowly and not directly, taking the route along the waterfront. They talk quietly about their next steps.

“I haven’t thought far beyond just finding Danny,” Q admits. He sighs. “And though I’m dreadfully curious about who _exactly_ he is, I think the priority really needs to be finding the others who did this to Alex.”

“Hmm. Before they find us,” James acknowledges. “Danny may be of some help. He was raked through the coals. He might recognize some names.”

“The names might be false. Not everyone eschews aliases”

Bond huffs a laugh. “Faces probably aren’t fake.”

“Probably not,” Q admits.

A mist curls along the water, dampening the sounds of their steps and making the public strand feel intimate. Q loves the city at night, and he’s always enjoyed walking at night, but he has to admit, it’s nice having company.

“It’s starting to get crowded in your flat,” James observes.

“Oh… are you wanting… I suppose now that we know Alex isn’t a threat, you might not _need_ to st—”

“I’m not planning to leave unless you kick me out, Q. And even then, I would argue. You still need protection — not from Alex or Danny, maybe, but nonetheless. And I need… I’d _like_ to see this through. It sounds like M was doing… things even _I_ wouldn’t have thought her capable of. She was an iron maiden, in both senses: tough as nails and a bit of a torture device, but… I suppose I always assumed she was merely ruthlessly negligent with our lives, and not explicitly contemptuous of them.”

Q sighs and looks out over the water. He’s been struggling with similar thoughts. “I’d say it makes for complicated emotions, but we’re British men and don’t admit to having those,” Q quips.

Bond huffs dark laugh. “Certainly not relating to dead bosses”

“Quite.”

After a few moments of walking in silence, Bond says, “Emotions shouldn’t be wasted on the dead.”

“It’s simpler,” Q responds. “The dead can’t disappoint you anymore.”

“Can’t they?” Bond asks, looking at him seriously.

“I suppose if you find out something about them you didn’t expect, they can,” Q admits.

They decide it’s safe to head back, because, as James’ quips, there’s even been enough time for round two.

Q’s relieved to find them sitting curled on the sofa together, fully clothed and sipping tea. They appear thoroughly shagged out and content, but mostly they look really… sweet. Q’s never seen that dreamy look on Alex’s face before.

And then there’s Danny’s face.

“That’s… fucking strange,” Danny says as he looks up and really _sees_ Q for the first time. Because apparently Danny is the type to speak directly about the elephant in the room. Which is refreshing, in its way.

“Indeed,” Q acknowledges, “But probably a mystery to be saved for another time. The mystery for _now_ involves the people who did this to you two.”

“Who are you?” Danny asks. “Alex says you’re MI6 — the Quartermaster — but that doesn’t make sense.”

“A bomb hit MI6 a few months back,” Bond steps in, almost protecting Q. “Some high-up people died, and some others died trying to get to the bottom of it. Q’s taken over the branch and is trying to sort out who can be trusted, and who was involved in clearly _illegal_ activities.”

“And you’re going to expose them?” Danny asks. “Because that’s what Frances and I are trying to do.”

“My _mother_?” Alex nearly chokes. “But she was there when they tried to asphyxiate me. When they took me away,” he protests.

“She regrets so much and— Oh my god, she thinks you’re dead… when she finds out you’re not, she’s going to be _so_ happy!”

“You are not going to tell her,” Q says firmly.

“Why not?” Danny asks, turning back to Q as if to argue.

“Well,” Q starts. “For one thing, she's probably being watched. We still don’t know how many people are aware that Alex _wasn’t_ killed, but whoever’s left, you can be sure they’re keeping an eye on his mum. Until we are ready to play our cards, Alex has to _stay_ dead. It’s up to Alex whether he wants to stay dead after that.”

“Why would I want to?” he asks.

“There are all sorts of advantages to being ‘dead’,” Bond offers. “It can be terribly freeing. Though I can’t say I regret coming back from my own recent untimely death.”

Q rolls his eyes at Bond, before turning to Alex and saying, “You might be safer with a new identity, but it’s nothing you need to decide at the moment. For now, I’d like to see if Danny can help us identify any of our remaining spies.”

They go over everything they’ve found so far with Danny, and he shares his stories. Q now has several _other_ people to research, starting with several blokes at Scotland Yard and the enigmatic “James” at the social club, who may not have been involved in Alex’s disappearance, but seemed aware of it and decidedly unconcerned.

It’s one in the morning when they’re finally too tired to continue. Danny makes an awkward start of standing and looking at the door.

“You’ll stay here, won’t you, Danny? Until we get this sorted,” Q asks.

“Would it be okay?” he asks. “I’ve been staying with friends at the moment...”

“Will they report you missing if you don’t show up?” Bond asks.

“They’ll probably assume I’ve gone on a bender,” Danny says. “I’m not _actually_ doing drugs anymore… I mean, since I met you,” he says to Alex. “But Scottie’s dead, and you were dead and I’ve been trying to keep my wits about me. I just… I haven’t liked being alone,” Danny explains. “And they know me from before, when I would have done. Drugs. So that’s probably what they’ll assume. They’ll start looking for me in the morning, maybe, but they won’t call the Met. And I don’t have much there. Just a duffle with some clothes.”

Bond says, “We can find a way to go get them tomorrow, but I agree, with Q. Now that you know Alex is alive, it’s safest for everyone if you stay here. Q and I can follow up with this _James_ of yours and see where that leads.”

“It was a private club,” Danny warns.

“I clean up well,” Bond says with a wink.

They all say goodnight, and Q finds something for Danny to sleep in. Fortunately, they’re the same size.

After Danny and Alex disappear into the guestroom, Q leans back against the back of his chair, mind still reeling.

“Well, we have our work cut out for us,” Bond says softly.

“Hmmm,” Q agrees.

Bond stands, picking up glasses and walking them to the kitchen. “It’s good to hear that he doesn’t think Mallory or Moneypenny are involved, but I suppose he might have only seen the footsoldiers.”

“True. I don’t think we can be sure at this point. This _James_ seems like a good lead, though. And Alex’s mother… I think I’d _really_ like to talk with her,” Q says, getting up to follow James into the kitchen.

“If we can trust her… did you see the way Alex tensed when she was mentioned?” James asks, washing the tumblers.

Q nods. “He and Danny will have to work out their different impressions. Danny may be right that she’s changed, but I think we need to take our cues from Alex.”

“If his last glimpse of her was when he passed out in that trunk, I can see how that would be hard to get past. And I can see how it might make her reassess her life and want to make changes.”

“Do you think people _can_ change?” Q asks.

Bond considers the question for a moment as he places the tumblers on a dry rack. “I think… people’s fundamentals don’t change much, but their priorities — and therefore their choices — _can_. And that’s effectively the same thing. Because the choices you make are what define you as a person. How others see and interact with you.” He looks up at Q. “And I think your priorities can change abruptly based on your experiences.”

“Like watching your child ‘die’?”

“Yes. Near-death experiences of all sorts,” James says, and suddenly Q isn’t sure whom they’re talking about anymore. “Finding out you’re more disposable than you thought you were… I understand some of what Alex is feeling, perhaps. I’d have a hard time trusting her, too.”

Q considers that for a moment. He’s _always_ felt a bit disposable, so it’s hard to imagine coming to that conclusion suddenly.

“Did you trust M?” he asks, because she seems to be the other mother figure being alluded to.

“God, no!” Bond laughs. “But I _valued_ her.” He sighs and looks away. “We should go to bed. We’ll get maudlin if we keep this up, and there’s no point in that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Q says, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I can start in on the MI5 files tomorrow looking for Danny’s James.”

“And I can take him to get his things and give a cover story so no one comes looking for him.”

Q pours some water in one of the tumblers. “Goodnight, James,” he says softly, tempted to say more… what he’s not exactly sure, it just feels a bit strange to walk away. When he gets James’ responding ‘dream well’, he turns and pads down the hall to the loo and washes his teeth while checking the security system with an app on his phone. He can hear faint talking through the wall from Alex’s room. He can almost _feel_ the joy seeping through the walls as he washes his face. It makes him happy for them. Of course, it does. But a little wistful as well. He sighs, grabs his water, and goes to his room.

It’s ten minutes later, after he’s changed into sleep pants and a tee and is settling into bed, that there’s a soft knock on the door.

He gets up and opens it a crack, finding Bond on the other side of the door. Bare-chested, because the universe can be cruel. James' lips quirk as he looks Q over.

“James? Everything okay?”

He holds up Q’s phone. “You left this in the bathroom, I think. Figured you’d be looking for it.”

“Oh… thank you,” Q says, opening the door a bit more and taking the phone. James comes in a bit more, standing close enough that Q can feel the heat coming off his skin. Can smell the faint musk of his aftershave.

“I forgot to thank you earlier?” Bond murmurs.

“Whatever for?”

“Having dinner with me,” James says. “I enjoyed it.”

Q smiles. “I did, too. Thank you for taking me. And for getting Danny. Alex is _so_ much better.”

“We did that together,” Bond insists. Looking in the direction of Alex’s room for a moment, he asks, “Do you think they’ll get any sleep tonight?”

Q snorts. “Would you?”

Bond’s grin goes a bit wicked. “Definitely not.”

Q huffs a laugh, looking away and trying to hide...

Bond reaches up and softly pushes Q’s fringe back off his brow. And really, it’s too much. Q closes his eyes against his attraction because… it would be so _easy_ to invite James in to sleep with him. James seems almost to be anticipating the invitation. Hoping for it, even. But Q can’t tell what it is that’s drawing them together. Is it just sympathetic attraction seeping through the walls? He doesn’t think so. He’s felt a pull to James since he met the man. But he also doesn’t fall into bed as easily as Bond does. He’s not looking to become one of Bond’s string of lovers. Despite the fact that he’s _sure_ it would make for a very nice night.

“They’re lucky, you know,” James whispers. “They’ve decided they know what it’s worth coming home for. After a few near-death experiences, that becomes increasingly important.”

It’s surprisingly sentimental, and not at all seductive. Or not intended to be seductive, which means Q finds it charming enough that he almost _does_ invite James in… because he doesn’t want to be his one-night stand, but he sees the appeal of being the reason Bond returns from missions. He hesitates too long, though.

Bond leans in and kisses the side of Q’s mouth. “Goodnight, Q.”

He nearly sways on his feet. “Goodnight, James.”

And with a soft snick of the door, Q finds himself alone again.

It takes him a long time to get to sleep that night.

The next three days are busy. Q starts poking at the MI5 servers in his off-time — finding James Sullivan and confirming with Danny that “that’s him.” At work, he’s prepping missions for 003 and 005, and continuing to overhaul the branch. Moneypenny comes by with more budget reports, asking for Q’s last round of approvals.

“They’re around here somewhere,” Q says digging through the mess on his desk. That’s odd.

He goes into the branch and looks at his perch in the front of the room, but they aren’t there either. Frowning, he goes back to his office and finds them on the edge of his workbench.

“Getting a bit frazzled, are you, love. If they’d been a snake they would have bit you.”

“I suppose,” Q says, smiling as she leaves.

He vows to put more surveillance on his office, because those files were definitely _not_ on the bench five minutes ago.

He goes home to find Bond and Danny chopping vegetables as Alex sits at the kitchen table, the picture of contentment.

Bond takes one look at Q and brings him over a glass of wine. “What happened?”

Q shakes his head. “Just tired and missing things,” Q says, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I shouldn’t try to hack anything tonight. I’d probably leave a trail so large you could drive a lorry down it.”

“A night off,” Bond agrees. “Right after I tell you the recon info from the club and the fact I spotted _James_.”

They talk about their personal mission over dinner, Danny still maintaining that they should just ask Frances for anyone else involved. After washing up the dishes, they settle in to watch a film. Danny is curled into Alex’s side on the sofa. It’s rare that they aren’t touching in some way, and Q has gotten used to it. Q sits on the floor and stretches out his back as the film starts. When he’s released some of the tension of the day, he leans back against the chair James is sitting in.

After about ten minutes, Q feels the touch of James’ fingers at the nape of his neck, tentative. It steals his breath for a moment, but then Q tilts his head ever so slightly and feels James explore a bit more confidently. It’s more soothing than seductive — though also pretty damned seductive — and Q doesn’t want it to end.

It does, of course, as the credits roll and they all get up to get ready for bed, but in its wake is some sort of understanding that this touching is now allowed. They’ve both been resisting each other, but that’s starting to crumble, and neither of them seems to mind. Bond gives him a quick kiss goodnight on the corner of the mouth after Danny and Alex got to bed, and Q is tempted _again_ to invite James to his bed, though he’s fairly sure he’d actually fall asleep on him tonight.

He drifts off thinking of James' fingers drawing little circles on his neck and the smell of his aftershave.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he’s abruptly awakened by Bond’s cries and the sounds of sirens approaching in the distance.

“What’s happening?” Q asks groggily.

“The building’s on fire,” Bond calls. “Do you have a go-bag?”

“Yes.”

“Time to use it.”

James ushers Q up out of bed, yelling at him to hurry as Q collects things: his specs, his shoes, a coat… He’s almost out the door when he runs back in.

“Q, we have to _go_!” James yells, pushing Alex and Danny through the door. Q can feel the heat in the hall and the smoke is starting to fill the room. He grabs the laptops on the table… the one he’s been using for hacking the MI5 systems and the one he got in the facility holding Alex… and shoves them, their cords, and everything he has connected to them into his bag. When he reaches the door, James wraps an arm over his shoulders and pulls him down the hall through the growing flames.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter completes the Angst Table with the prompt "Fall." Thanks to bloodsuitsandtears for betaing and handholding.
> 
> I have one more chapter planned for this story (now that the Angst Table is complete, that chapter will be all wrap-up and happy ending), but I want to warn everyone that it isn't written yet, and I leave on Sunday for a backpacking trip, so it may be a while. If you want to read this lot settling in "after the fall" (and perhaps the introduction of some poly <.< ) please subscribe so you don't forget and miss it. I'll try to remember to cross-post to the 00QAD-fandom blog. 
> 
> I also think this may turn into a series, but I'm too exhausted to really think about that now.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading, and I promise, despite the fact that it will be a few weeks until the last chapter, Ido have it plotted and I'm not leaving you with a terrible cliffie (like last time).

They rush to the end of the hall to the stairwell and find it _locked_!

Bond shoots the handle and forces the door open, and for once Q thinks James’ “shoot first” mentality is spot on. They don't encounter anyone when they reach the second floor, and the ground floor just has a few shops that are closed this time of night, but the roar of the fire through the steel door is definitely louder. They go down another floor to the basement, again find the door locked, and _again_ shoot it open.

Q runs through the garage, digging his spare keys from the outer pocket of the go-bag, and activates the fob. All four of them pile into the nondescript grey car — James behind the wheel and throwing it into reverse before Alex has managed to close the door.

“Q,” Bond warns, and Q looks up to see the gate to the garage closed. Cursing under his breath, he presses the button on the opener, not at all surprised when nothing happens.

“Someone really wants us to die in this fire,” Q complains, taking Bond’s gun and shooting the lock just as Bond rams the gate. It flies open, and they burst free, squealing out of the way of a firetruck as they turn down the road.

“We’ve got company,” Bond warns after a few blocks.

“Of course we _bloody_ do,” Q says, pulling out his laptop and setting up a hotspot with his phone. Muttering under his breath as Bond swerves, he sets up the VPN and then starts hacking the traffic lights, cameras and the database of alerts on license plates.

“No complaints about my driving?” Bond asks.

“You do you,” Q says. “I’ll do me. As much as your driving is making it difficult to hack the Met, if you can lose them by brute force, I won’t complain.”

James squeals through several more lights when suddenly the cross-traffic starts going just after they go through the intersection. The first time, it merely slows their pursuers down, but the second time…

“Ouch,” Bond says, watching the mayhem in the rearview mirror.

“Hopefully that lorry wasn’t carrying anything too toxic,” Q says, blacking out the traffic cameras throughout the city in a seemingly random pattern that he hopes will distract whoever’s after them. He hacks into the database used for the automatic number plate recognition system and changes the trace on his number plate by several digits. He looks up to find that Bond has merged into traffic on the A201. There aren't a lot of cars, but they offer some camouflage.

“Report.”

“No sign of further pursuit. That’s a handy trick, Quartermaster.” There’s an edge to Bond’s voice that he’s not sure he recognizes.

“If you’re sure we’ve lost them, get us somewhere we can check the car. An alley or something. Please,” he adds, because he's slipped into Quartermaster mode, but he's not sure it's appropriate.

“You think they put a tracker on it?” Alex asks.

“I certainly don’t want to find out when they burn down my _next_ residence,” Q responds bitterly.

“We’d be better off switching,” Bond suggests, shifting out of traffic and entering a neighborhood.

“Fine,” Q agrees. He looks in the backseat, where Danny and Alex are clinging to each other, bags on their laps. “We’re going to steal a clean car.”

“Won’t it get reported?”

“Yes, but I can slow that down and we won’t have it for long. But if they’ve planted something on _my_ car, there’s a good chance we won’t find it.”

“There,” Bond says, pulling into a side street and parking in the shadows of an alley. “I’ll be right back.”

Q is still covering their tracks when Bond pulls into the end of the alley in a Range Rover. “Time to go,” Q announces, closing the computer. He, Danny and Alex run for the Rover and get in, Bond again pulling away before they’ve quite closed the doors.

“Where to now?” Bond asks Q. “I know a safe house.”

“If it’s MI6 it won’t be safe enough,” Q says.”

“I have a house,” Danny offers. “Scottie left it to me,” he adds as Alex comforts him. “It’s huge.”

“And probably being watched,” Q asserts. “Head west,” he tells James.

Q directs him to a semi-industrial area with auto body shops, warehouses, mechanics, glass deliveries. It’s still dark as they approach an old brick building with a sign reading “Custom Motors.”

“Here,” he says, pointing to the drive. He hops out to unlock a padlock and open the bay door using the keypad. Bond drives their stolen car in and Q lowers the door and locks it from inside.

“What is this place?” Bond asks as they all get out of the car.

“A _really_ safe house,” Q says, rubbing his eyes. “From back when I needed such a thing. It’s mine. MI6 doesn’t know about it. There’s a living space up those stairs,” he says pointing. “I’ll tell you all about my misspent youth after we’ve had some sleep. Come on.” He goes to grab his bag, but James is already carrying both of theirs, so he climbs the stairs and unlocks the apartment door.

It’s tidy, but dusty, a work area containing several old computers and odd bits of tech lining one wall, a small kitchen along the other, a small sitting area in the corner, and a short hall. “There are more blankets in the trunks at the foot of the beds,” Q says, opening the first door and checking that things are as he last left them. “Alex, why don’t you and Danny take this bedroom. The bathroom is just across the hall.”

Q checks the water in the bathroom and then walks down the hall and opens the door at the end. He walks through the small bedroom to the windows overlooking the street, making sure that everything is quiet. He turns back to see Bond watching him intently.

“What?”

Bond surges forward cupping Q’s face and kissing him.

Q is too shocked to respond at first, but quickly reciprocates.

“Oh, thank god!,” he hears Danny say through the rushing in his ears. “I thought they’d _never_ get to it.”

“Go to bed, _Danny_ ,” Q grumbles, pulling Bond closer.

Bond huffs a laugh and ends the kiss, fingers still threaded through Q’s curls. “Don’t _ever_ do that again,” he says as they hear the door to the bedroom click shut.

“What did _I_ do?” Q asks.

“You almost died.”

It’s true. Now that they’re safe, Q feels a bit wobbly. And he can smell the smoke in his hair, and feels the urgency of their flight, but it’s unimportant compared with the urgency he feels now as James presses him against the wall and gives him a kiss that makes his toes curl.

“Whenever I think,” Bond says between kisses, “I can… bide my time… the fucking world tries to take… what I want… from me.”

“Shut up! More kissing!”

“So bossy… Sure you don’t want... me to... sleep on the sof—”

Q covers his mouth and pulls him down on the bed.

It’s no long seduction… they’ve been doing _that_ for who knows how long now. And Q agrees. If someone is going to try to _fucking kill_ _them_ , he’s done with playing it safe. Still, once they’re both undressed and skin to skin, they slow down and savor the touches, the little breaths, the sighs of _finally_ coming together after what feels like both too much time and probably not enough. But it doesn’t matter. They both need it and want it and the rest will sort itself out later. Assuming they live that long.

In the aftermath, they lie together, Q resting his head on James’ chest and James trailing a finger slowly up and down Q’s spine.

Q arches into the touch like a cat, sighing happily.

“That was a long time coming,” James says.

“Was it?” Q asks, looking up at James and resting his chin on his hand.

“Hmm,” Bond confirms sleepily, playing with Q’s fringe. “We should get some sleep, though. I can take first watch.”

“You’re not moving,” Q says, getting up to fish his phone out of his pocket. He checks the security settings on this place, making sure the counter-surveillance is all functioning and the perimeter alerts are on. Then he grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and covers them both with it.

“All secure, Quartermaster?”

“Safe as houses,” Q sighs. “But probably not for long. In the morning, we have to decide who to bring in, and how. I’d rather know more before reading M in, but the time for going it alone might be over. We’re clearly pissing someone off.”

“Which means we’re closer than we realize,” Bond says, drawing little circles in Q’s shoulder with his thumb. “I was furious at you for turning back, but it’s good you saved the evidence.”

“Hmm. If we survive, I’d like to stay out of prison, secret or otherwise. I wish I knew who had set up those partitions. Might help me crack the codes.” Q yawns, the weight of… everything, really… dragging him into sleep. He drifts off to the steady thrum of James’ heartbeat.

He dreams of people chasing him and awakens, oddly enough with a semblance of a plan. He pads out into the main room to find that Bond is already up and sorting through the tins of food in the kitchen.

He turns as he hears Q approach. “What is this place? It’s stocked for an invasion.”

“Zombie Apocalypse,” Q quips, reaching for a tin of tea. A bit stale, he decides upon sniffing it, but serviceable.

“Seriously, Q.”

“I told you I had a misspent youth.”

“I thought you meant you’d done some time in a Young Offender Institution, not created a _bunker_. How did someone growing up in group homes afford a personal hideout?”

“Well, I wasn’t washing dishes at the pub,” Q says. When James crosses his arms, Q rolls his eyes. “I was hacking things I shouldn’t have been. And I needed to be able to watch my own back. I didn't have a legion of Double-Ohs at the time. Some of my clients paid rather well.”

“Did M know about your hacking?”

“It’s how I came to be in her employ, if you catch my meaning. She knew about the activity. I had to sign something saying I wouldn’t do it anymore and forfeit the most obvious bank accounts to purchase my place amongst the angels, if that’s what MI6 is.”

“And this place?”

“Seemed to have slipped my mind at the time.”

Bond shakes his head, laughing.

“I didn’t survive this long by giving away my Plan Bs. And M was keen enough to have me on her team, she decided to be satisfied with the pound of flesh I was offering. She seemed to understand I had trust issues and needed my ‘security blanket’.”

“I’ve never known you to have trust issues.”

Q doesn’t answer that, instead focusing on his tea. He doesn’t understand why he's seemed to trust Bond from the outset, either. Instead of analyzing _that_ aspect of his personality, he changes the subject. “I think I have a plan for accelerating our approach, but Alex isn’t going to like it.”

“What won’t I like?” Alex asks as he and Danny make their way to the kitchen.

Q turns to him, blowing on his tea. “We need to contact your mother. We need to know what she knows. And I think I know how to do it safely.”

Alex straightens. “You’re right; I don’t like it. I’m not ready for her to know I’m alive.”

“I can work with that,” Q says, taking a sip.

A few hours later, they’re ready. Danny has called Frances to set up a virtual meeting, telling her he has some good news. Q has created a new VPN that is bouncing their signal around so much it will look like it’s originating in Italy. He’s generated a secure and _temporary_ login for Frances and set up a video camera that will allow both Danny and James to be seen. It’s a risk, letting her see James' face, but not as much as his or Alex’s would be. Q’s given Danny and Bond a list of questions he needs to be answered. He and Alex are listening in from across the room, off-camera, out of sight of Danny, whom Q doesn’t trust to not look over. Danny’s smart and willing, and a skilled liar in his way, but he’s no agent.

They start the meeting, and Danny seems genuinely happy to see Frances. She’s concerned that he hadn’t been returning her texts, and he explains he lost his phone and had been rather depressed after their last failure at getting any attention about Alex’s death. She’s eyeing Bond curiously and Danny explains that their actions _must_ have been making some difference, because someone from MI6 reached out to him.

Bond explains that he’s a tech with Q Branch trying to make sense of the fallout after the explosion, and that he’s found a set of laptops that seem to be for special projects, but that the credentials all belong to people who are now dead. He thinks one _might_ have been linked to Alex’s work, and when he saw the interview Danny gave, he thought he should make contact.

It’s a fishing expedition. Bond does a reasonable job of posing as a boffin, but this is _not_ how MI6 works. Frances seems to notice, but oddly enough, plays along. Q can only imagine that she’s trying to see what she can get out of Bond, while Bond does the same, and Danny just charms them both, getting them to lower their guard. It’s like watching a very bizarre poker game that Danny doesn’t realize they’re playing.

Q takes notes. A document is open on his laptop, and he types in anything that seems the least bit like it could offer a clue to the passwords on the partitions. He also has the Q Branch laptop open and occasionally actually tries to get into the ‘hidden’ partition using one of Frances’ words that seems just a bit too formal or polished for the conversation they’re having. But nothing works. The poker game continues.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Danny says, seemingly oblivious of the tension growing in the room, “remember when you said that Mallory chap from the Cabinet was probably in charge of everything? Like, moving money around in secret ways and having off-the-books projects… but there was no evidence because he’s really careful. Well, if he was _actually_ responsible for killing Alex—”

Q and Bond both freeze, but Frances just looks confused, interrupting him. “The old M went to great pains to _keep_ all this from Mallory,” she corrects. “Whenever she addressed the Foreign Secretary she was very careful. Which is why it was always surprising that the Parliamentary Intelligence and Security Committee seemed to send these messages down to M directly.”

“Oh.” Danny looks very confused. “So Mallory wasn’t on the Parliamentary Intelligence Committee?”

“He reported to it, but no. Now his role has been taken over by Mr. Patterson, since Mallory’s moved to SIS.”

“Ah. Well, nevermind. I thought that was useful, but I guess it’s not.”

James and Frances start their game of poker again, and Danny scratches his nose and raises an eyebrow in Q’s direction.

Q’s already on it, searching the names of the Parliamentary Intelligence and Security Committee, their staff, their spouses…

The seventh name he tries works. Q leans back in his chair, amazed, as the directory for the entire hidden partition becomes readable.

“Your boyfriend just might be brilliant,” he whispers to Alex as he digs into the top folder of the directory. It’s a treasure trove, and it will likely take days to sort, but it’s all. Right. Here.

Alex’s knee bumps his, and he looks up and starts paying attention to the meeting again.

“In Q Branch? Are you sure?” James asks.

“I’m not sure she’s still in Q Branch, but I’m sure she survived the explosion. Just be careful.”

James and Danny look at each other grimly. “Our connection is about to timeout, Frances,” Danny says. “Be safe. I’ll be in touch again when I can.”

She’s waving her goodbye as Q kills the connection. The meeting goes dark.

“Danny, you are _brilliant_!” Q announces as Alex rushes across the room to hug him. “I’m going to start backing this up so we don’t lose access again, but I think we’ve found our Puppeteer.”

“And who’s that?” Bond asks, coming over to the table, clearly excited.

“Someone with enough power and privilege that he’s not used to having laws apply to him,” Q says, turning his computer screen to show Bond. “And my predecessor, bless his heart, used the old codger’s name as the partition password. He probably couldn’t remember the password it was set up with. Which means we still don’t know who set it up in the first place…”

“Maybe the mole Frances warned us about.”

“Is she really a mole if she was read into a secret project and then everyone else on the project died? Including her boss?” Q sighs. “Though I _have_ had things go missing from my office, and my address isn’t exactly available from a google search. If she’s answering to someone outside MI6 and feels compelled to protect him over members of the service...”

Bond reads the directory over Q’s shoulder, watching as Q clicks through a few of the files. “Is it enough, do you think? To put him away? To make it stick?”

“I’m no barrister,” Q says, “but I should think so. It’s certainly enough to end a political career. But we need to protect ourselves as well.” He leans back in his chair. “Time to bring in a politician who actually believes in what we do.”

Bond nods. “I’ll call M,” he offers.

It’s all straight out of a spy novel. Q can ensure their line is secure on his end, but he’s loath to treat M to the same shenanigans he forced on Frances. Bond calls him and asks for an in-person meeting, off-campus. M is relieved to hear that there might be news about the Quartermaster that doesn’t involve a ransom note or autopsy report, and seems intrigued enough to play along. Bond leaves to meet him, with the promise to return with M unless something feels off.

Alex, Danny and Q tidy the room a bit and then wait, Alex getting increasingly nervous. Danny is a rock beside him. And Q understands. The last time he dealt with the head of SIS, it didn’t go well. But they’ve discussed this. Alex can’t hide forever… or rather if he’s going to, they need help. They need to get the people trying to kill him neutralized. But it doesn’t make it easier. Searching for something to distract him, Q looks at Danny and says, “Once this is all over, how would you feel about going and getting blood tests so we can sort out…” he makes a vague motion toward his face.

Danny tilts his head. “Where did you say you grew up?” he asks.

“Here in London. In care. You?”

“Brixton. And then all over East London, really.”

“With your folks?”

“Adopted,” Danny clarifies. “But my adoptive father was a drunk and ran off on us, and my mum got sick when I was fifteen and… well, I just emancipated myself when she died rather than go into a home. I was already working, and could let a room in a dodgy neighborhood. Do you think…” he trails off.

“No idea. Seems possible, though.”

They hear the garage door open and a moment later, James and M enter carrying several shopping bags.

“Quartermaster. Good to see that you were not one of the victims of the fire.”

“Were there any?” Q asks, feeling slightly ashamed that it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“Five hospitalizations for smoke inhalation. And Bond tells me you were the target. At least one of them,” he adds, eying Danny and Alex. “And that if I want to hear the long and thrilling story, I should bring scotch and dinner. So here we are,” he says, placing the bags on the table.

They tell him everything. And when the story and curry have both been exhausted, the five of them sit around the table and sip their scotch, digesting everything.

“And so you think this ‘Puppeteer’ is Lord Heasley from the PISC?” he asks of Q.

“It looks that way, sir. I’ve copied everything on a disk for you. There are still two smaller data partitions on that machine that I haven’t cracked yet, but I don’t expect it to lead us in a different direction.”

“Do you think it’s Mr. Turner’s research?”

Q turns to Alex, remembering the small drive that Danny wears around his neck, but not sure that Alex is ready to share the fact that the research has not been lost. “Possibly. But I think it’s more likely to be more records of their meetings when he was a captive. That follows the pattern.”

“Do you think it’s enough to neutralize him?” Bond asks of M.

“Oh, we can make him take a fall. This dovetails with some observations I've made. As I’ve been trying to overhaul the agency and move people into new positions, the approval process and justification queries have been bordering on ludicrous. If someone else is trying to set up their own people outside my hierarchy, it would explain a lot. And I cannot manage an agency that isn’t actually answering up through the chain. Yes, he needs to be dealt with,” M concludes taking a sip of his scotch. “The question is,” he adds, turning to Alex, “how public do you want this to be, Mr. Turner? And what is it you want in the end?”

“What do you mean?” Alex asks. He’s been relatively quiet since answering M’s initial questions, just sitting and holding Danny’s hand and watching M and Q go over everything, offering corroboration in the form of his fractured memories

“Well, we’ll need to handle things differently depending on what you want. I can see several possibilities. We can go public with everything and declare you still alive but detained against your will, etc. If we have evidence that they killed Scottie, we’d still have him on a murder charge. And if you want your job back at -6, we could possibly protect you. But it would mean that the people who were afraid of your research might try to kill you again, and if we don’t know who all of them are, we might _not_ be able to protect you. Alternatively, we could do all that but give you a new identity and you could try to make a go of it on your own. The Quartermaster is quite talented at developing new identities. We could likely set you up outside of England where you would be less likely to be found.”

Alex looks rather unhappy at that prospect.

“Or, you could come back to MI6, but _stay dead_ ,” M continues. “We could create a new identity for you, once we’re sure the people who were involved in your situation have been appropriately purged. It seems that the number of people who were read in on your project was very small, and many of them are dead. We might be able to reinvent you right under their noses. But if we did it that way, it would mean Alex Turner is dead. No contact with old friends.”

Alex looks overwhelmed.

“You have a few days to decide,” M says, kindly.

“Would you want me to resume my research?” Alex asks.

M considers his scotch for a moment. “I think that if you were able to create something that had the potential to utterly change what we do — whether you pursue that exact project again or not — you’re the type of man I’d want on our team. I’m sure the Quartermaster could find uses for your talents that wouldn’t bring you quite so much direct scrutiny.”

Q nods. “From what I've seen of your coding skills, If you want a place in my Q Branch, Alex, you need only ask. And for that matter, it might be safer for everyone if we find something for Danny, too. You should have seen how he got Frances to divulge a vital piece of information, M.”

“It was impressive,” Bond adds. “There are certain skills that can be taught, and others that are instinctual. Danny could be a real asset. If he wants in.”

“I just want to be where Alex is,” Danny says. “My job has always just been a way to make rent. I don’t really need anything fancy.”

“And I need... “ Alex wipes his eyes. “I need Danny, of course. But. I also… I feel _safe_ with Q and James. I don’t want to be alone… even if Danny and I try to make a run for it, I wouldn’t feel safe.”

M scrutinizes the four of them. Q can almost see the cogs slipping into place as he registers what he sees between them all. Perhaps things they aren’t even admitting to themselves.

“Well, it seems the four of you have accomplished a lot together. And you’ve landed in living quarters safer than even I could have engineered for you. I suggest you keep things as they are for the moment. Quartermaster, if you have that drive ready for me, and a secure device for contacting you, I think I’d best be off so as not to raise suspicions.”

“For now I’d only access that drive when you’re off the network, sir,” Q clarifies. “Hard to say who might be monitoring until we find this person in Q Branch and I can complete an overhaul.”

“Agreed,” M says. “And I think I’ll maintain the search for you in local hospitals, just to keep up the facade for anyone who might be watching. However, I’m very pleased to find you alive and well, Quartermaster. And you, too, Bond. Good job keeping him safe.”

“Sir,” Bond acknowledges.

“As for you two,” he adds, turning to Danny and Alex. “Thank you for bringing me in. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to trust someone in my position, considering what you’ve been through.”

M leaves with the drive, a new burner phone, and a promise to get them a car that isn’t being sought by the Met.

The next four days are a flurry of research, clandestine phone calls, and depressing realizations. Q correlates the days he thinks things went missing from his office with the team rosters and narrows the identity of the mole down to two people. And he really hopes it isn’t the one he’d hand-picked to be his R.

They send everything to M, letting him compile it into whatever form he thinks it needs to take. And then they wait.

The waiting isn’t bad. Bond and Q are sharing one bedroom, Danny and Alex the other. There’s a comfort to it all that Q is going to miss when this is all over. Despite the fact that they keep anticipating being discovered, keep waiting for the mole to sort out what M is doing and get to them first. It’s nerve-wracking and maddening, but they are all together, and so it's also strangely wonderful.

But not as wonderful as the headlines on the fifth morning: “The Fall Of a Titan! Lord Heasley and the _Secret_ Secret Service.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get back to this fic, but pandemic, etc. You'll notice, though, that I'm no longer saying it's 6 chapters... so I hope that offers some consolation for the long hiatus. There are three more written, and I'm not even sure how much after that, so I'm going with the "?" for now.
> 
> Thanks so much to BloodSuitsAndTears and Ducky for the beta help. You'll also notice the change in rating and tags... we are past the angst (more or less) and into more pleasurable parts of the story.

Everything changes when the news breaks that the British government had “disappeared” one of its own… and nothing changes at all.

Or rather, quite a bit changes _publically_ very quickly. All hell breaks loose, actually, and the list of inquiries and people brought before committees and exposed by the press is enough to first fascinate and then horrify the public. Danny, particularly, is pleased that the smear campaign against him has largely been exposed as just that, and he’s now seen as an unfortunate victim of a terrible cover-up. _The Daily Mail_ even writes a new story about Danny that paints him as a grieving and dedicated boyfriend who had his name dragged through the mud just as he was suffering a tremendous loss… forgetting to add that they’d been the ones dragging his name when that was what was selling papers. Still, it’s a welcome change.

 _Privately_ , within the confines of their secret cocoon, nothing much changes for Q, James, Danny, and Alex — aside from a growing sense that they might actually survive this ordeal...

Q’s busy. The first order of business, once the news breaks, is monitoring communications in Q Branch to see if the mole reveals herself. It happens so quickly, Q nearly misses it. He quickly sends Moneypenny to intercept the woman with a handful of guards as the woman tries to leave early from her overnight shift, and from there, M takes over. Q decides he’d rather not be directly involved. If she’s the one who gave his address to whoever set his old building on fire, he doesn’t trust himself to deal with her. He’d probably just hack her bank and ruin her credit rating and donate all her money to the families of her victims. Which he still _wants_ to do, but considering the scrutiny she’s likely under, he’d probably get caught. Almost certainly.

Besides, that night had turned out rather well for him.

From his secure location, he’s helping his hand-picked R sort through the records to identify anyone _else_ who might have known Alex during his time in Q branch. The work he did previously to pull together enough information to read M in and solicit his help — the evidence that allowed M to start the firestorm that’s currently raging through the press and halls of Parliament — it’s nothing compared to what they’re sorting through now. They are filling in the gaps. Uncovering anyone still at MI5 or MI6 who was involved in Alex’s work or disappearance, or Danny’s harassment and public shaming.

They’re making sure all such people are purged or moved if they were even tangentially involved, and prosecuted if they were at the center of the conspiracy.

He assists M and Moneypenny with producing briefings for the Prime Minister, working at the kitchen table sometimes long enough that his shoulders ache and his eyes blur. Until finally James takes his hand and leads him away, feeding him up and then taking him to bed.

Those are good nights, too.

Danny prepares recorded testimony and eventually is asked to join a meeting remotely — M absolutely will not allow him to be forced to appear before any committees, stating that he’s been so poorly treated that he deserves some privacy. M is also worried that he might give away Alex’s return by seeming not _quite_ so desolate as he was before, but this is never stated outright. Frances appears before all committees instead, and she’s a _devastating_ witness: able to name names and corroborate events, describing the fear the entire spy community felt at the experimental program her son had created, the attempts to silence him, and ultimately bearing witness to his killing. Her remorseful testimony grips the nation and causes the fall of several career politicians. M-the-former and Q-the-former are both held up as all that was wrong with the agency, and arguably used as scapegoats, though Q and current M try to make sure that no one slips through the cracks. Alex may never be safe, otherwise.

Frances doesn’t emerge unscathed. Though she avoids actual prosecution, she’s stripped of all her status for her involvement in the events that led to Alex’s death. She’s disgraced, and though some sympathize with her remorse and grieving, it’s unlikely she’ll ever quite recover from the public spectacle and shaming. She’s certainly no longer welcome amongst the government echelon of society.

Alex watches the testimony in silence, holding Danny’s hand. When it’s over, he stares at the screen… even as the program ends and advertisements begin. Even as James grabs the remote and shuts the telly off, plunging the room into silence. Alex stares for a moment longer, squeezes Danny’s hand, and slowly rises. He doesn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes, but squares his shoulders and heads to the kitchen, opening the fridge and removing the items for tonight’s dinner. The others take their cues from him, rising after a moment to help chop the vegetables he’s laid out and essentially ignoring the news and enjoying the domesticity that has developed between them all. And over the course of dinner prep — and especially after James pours everyone a glass of wine — the tension in Alex’s shoulders eases and his smile returns.

Alex has taken over cooking for their little group in the past weeks, when James is too busy with tasks at MI6. At first, Q thought that perhaps Alex was anxious to make himself useful as everyone else worked hard to bring him justice. Q suspected Alex wanted to show his appreciation to the three of them, but after a while, he decides that it’s _more_ than that.

They are all becoming friends.

They may have come together under the most dire of circumstances, but that’s not what’s keeping them together now. M could easily find new secure lodging for any of them, but no one talks of leaving. And in part, it’s because they are busy and it’s still not entirely safe. And in part perhaps it’s because they are comfortable, and disrupting things seems counterproductive and unnecessary. But for his own part, Q _likes_ living with the three of them. He likes the camaraderie that’s grown between them… the hard work and gallows' humor and meals eaten from takeaway containers — or more recently Alex’s home-cooking — that turn to laughter over whiskey. He even likes the way Bond leaves his shirts and jumpers all over the place, no longer acting like a guest minimizing his impact on the flat like he had been before the fire. Q _likes_ the constant reminders that he shares this space.

It’s surprising, considering how desperate he was to get his own place after growing up in group homes. Then, he was anxious for privacy and peace. Now, he finds the company comforting. And it’s not just because he likes sharing a bed with James… though he does… _very_ much. He likes the way _none_ of them seem particularly compelled toward privacy. Q will come out in his pajamas and find James sipping coffee at the table and Alex and Danny snogging in the kitchen while the bacon fries, and no one seems the least bit bothered. Or Q and James will be stretched out on the sofa watching a movie, James’ hands roving, and Danny will come out for a drink and sit and watch a scene or two while Alex sleeps.

He’s not the only one who seems happy to have company at home. Since Alex still isn’t allowed to be seen in public, he and James will spar downstairs in the garage or go run together under the cloak of darkness while Q and Danny tidy up or work. He and James are well-matched in stature, and now that he’s gained some of the weight and muscle mass he’d lost during his confinement, Alex is able to keep up with Bond. He remembers his MI6 training, which he excelled at despite the fact that he belonged to Q Branch. So now James and Alex either run or spar every evening after James comes home from MI6. Q can see the camaraderie that’s grown between them, and he likes it. He also likes seeing James and Alex return from their outings, shirts off and sweaty, bumping each other out of the way playfully as they get water.

That view is positively delicious, and the fact that Q gets to lick the sweat off of one of them feels like so much frosting on a delicious cake. If seeing Alex like that gives him a little flutter as well, it’s hardly relevant. He’s only human, after all, and he has every faith that Danny is doing an admirable job keeping Alex well cared for.

James is the only one leaving their little nest during the day. He goes to meet M or Eve, collects information or follows down leads, runs to the shops… and is enough of a spy to make sure he isn’t followed home. Yet even when James is at MI6, Q likes being with Alex and Danny. He likes how affectionate they are with each other, and how Alex looks at him sheepishly, as if to check that they aren’t making him uncomfortable. But he never feels uncomfortable. He likes basking in the glow of their affection… he likes the way it seems to overflow to include _him_. Danny watches his mug and makes him tea if it gets low or cold... Alex will massage his shoulders when he’s been working too hard at the computer… One night when James was late at MI6 and Q was stretched on the sofa reading, Alex just sat at the far end, pulling Q’s feet into his lap and talking with him as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s not sexual, but Alex’s hand is warm on his ankle as they discuss the files Q had uncovered that day, and Q is _very_ aware of it.

But perhaps the most telling sign of the comfort between them all is that as time goes on, between the hours of 10 p.m. and 8 a.m., clothing seems somewhat optional. It starts with people walking the hall in just a towel after a shower — no one had a dressing gown in their go-bag, and it hasn’t seemed a priority to buy them since. Then it extends to midnight snacks.

James and Q are whispering in the kitchen over scotch late one night when Danny comes stumbling out of the bedroom in what appears to be Alex’s tee and nothing else. He grunts in greeting as he passes them, opens a high cabinet, and reaches up to get a mug, either unaware or unconcerned as the shirt hitches up and exposes his arse. Q turns back to find James’ eyes momentarily glued to the spectacle. He quirks his eyebrow as James looks back at Q and realizes what’s happened. James offers a shrug and sheepish smile in response.

“Everything okay, Danny?” Q asks, a wry smile still on his lips.

Danny drinks the mug of water he’s just poured and turns back to James and Q, combing his fingers through his mussed hair. “He’s had another nightmare, I think. Not bad, and he’s back asleep again, but…” Danny shakes his head.

“How many is that this week?” James asks, all humor gone.

“Three. I can’t tell if it’s getting better or worse. They’re changing, I think. It’s not just himself being stuck in that place again… others are in danger.”

“It’s going to take time,” James says as Q places what he hopes is a comforting hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Everything’s come to a head and it’s in all the newspapers. It’s understandable that his worries are manifesting in his dreams.”

“I suppose,” Danny says, tugging at his hair. “I just hope he sleeps through the rest of the night. I worry about him.”

“Let us know if we can do anything,” Q offers.

Danny smiles and pats Q’s hand before pulling away and padding back down the hall to his bedroom. Q can’t help but watch his retreat, worry niggling at his mind. Alex is doing so much better, but at some point, they’ll have to leave this place, and what will happen to his anxiety and insomnia then? Glancing at James, he seems to be similarly troubled.

“Have you noticed anything during the days?” James asks, turning back to Q. “When I’m gone at work… is he quieter than usual? Isolating himself?”

Q shakes his head. “If anything, he seems to seek out company. Remember when we first found him, he always wrapped his arms around his body, like he was worried about taking up too much space or imposing on us? How he’d disappear into his room at odd times of the day?”

James nods.

“Now, he’s practically handsy. Not demanding or inappropriate but… not reserved like he was.”

“I’ve noticed it, too,” James admits. “I think… he told me a story when we were sparring Saturday morning. The way he was raised… he was never touched. Frances was not affectionate. And the housekeeper, whom he later learned was his mother, had to hide her affection. And then he was at uni. And then -6. Touching in those places was either formal, like handshakes, or aggressive. It wasn’t until Danny came along that he learned the joys of human contact… not just sex, but any of it.”

“So, you think he’s… what? Touch starved?”

“I think he was. And he likes it. Likes showing affection, but he still feels awkward with it. And we’re not like the other people he knows.”

Q raises an eyebrow.

“He knows how to act around colleagues,” James clarifies, “and he’s learned what’s allowed with Danny, but we’re in between. We may be his first real friends, and he’s… testing boundaries. Seeing what is allowed, what we’ll tolerate, what he’s comfortable with.”

Q considers that. He suddenly remembers cold nights in group homes where kids would cuddle together under blankets and watch movies on Friday nights. Before puberty, but after too, when the line between platonic affection and romantic attraction was first investigated. And poor Alex is doing it as an adult.

“I’m glad he’s comfortable enough to reach out to us,” Q decides. “I may even miss it when this is all over.”

“Well, we still have a few powerful people to topple before we get to that point,” James says, downing the rest of his drink and wincing before rubbing at his shoulder.

“Are you injured?” Q asks, straightening up.

“Just sore,” James assures. “Coming back from the dead is difficult. Especially now that I have a bit more mileage on me.”

Q threads his fingers through James’ and leads him back toward their bedroom, turning off lights as they go. “I may be able to help,” he offers.

“Oh?” James asks. “What did you have in mind? Please don’t tell me PT exercises.”

“No,” Q answers as they cross into their room and close the door. “I have something more pleasant in mind.” He begins unbuttoning James’ shirt as the agent watches with a small smirk. When he reaches for Q, though, Q bats his hand away. “I want you on the bed, face down.”

James raises an eyebrow but moves toward the bed. “Dressed?” he asks.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Q says, moving toward the nightstand and removing a vial from the drawer. He turns off the lights aside from a small table lamp, checking the security system from his phone before turning to the bed.

Bond is laid out with his arms wrapped loosely around his pillow, the picture of ease, except for one eye open a fraction to watch Q intently as he shucks his clothes and opens the vial, setting it on the corner of the table, in easy reach.

“I can’t decide if I’m hoping that’s lubricant or massage oil,” James finally says as Q drops his pants, climbs onto the bed, and straddles him.

“It’s massage oil,” Q says, warming some in his hand and then spreading it onto James’ shoulder. “But when I’m done with it, if you just want me to shag any remaining tension out of you, just say the word.”

James huffs a laugh and closes his eyes, moaning in delight as Q starts working over the sore muscles. “Oh, you’re good at this,” James praises, shifting under Q in a way that’s entirely too enticing.

“I am.”

“And so modest,” James says.

“You’ve frequently said I have clever fingers… why would this be different?”

“Your skillset is always impressive, Quartermaster,” James grunts as Q presses on a particularly stubborn knot.

Q works his way down James’ back, from the shoulders, down either side of his spine to his lower back. He’s never had such a muscular lover, and he admits he enjoys it… almost as much as James seems to enjoy Q’s flexibility. He scoots down further, straddling James' thighs as he smooths his hands down the small of James' back and then lower, tracing the swell of his arse and kneading the muscles there.

“Q,” James groans.

“Relaxed?” Q asks.

“Parts of me,” James answers, raising his arse slightly against Q’s hard cock and then thrusting against the sheets.

“Subtle,” Q whispers, leaning down to kiss James’ spine, dragging his cock against James’ arse and making him moan. Q leans over to the nightstand to retrieve a condom and the lube.

“You really can take me, if you like,” James offers.

“Is that what you want tonight?” Q asks, opening the bottle and pouring some onto his fingers.

“I could be convinced.”

Q leans down and kisses James’ spine again. “Are you hard for me?” he whispers.

“God yes, since the moment you touched me.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to waste that,” Q breathes against James’ skin as he reaches behind him and starts to work himself open.

“Oh, god,” James gasps into the pillow when he realizes what’s happening. “I can get you ready. Let me—”

“You’re meant to be relaxing,” Q whispers, leaning up so his mouth is close to James' ears. James shivers and thrusts as Q’s hot breathy gasps move across his neck. “You manhandle me all the time. Tonight, I’ll take care of things.” A few moments later, Q is ready and as impatient as James. “Roll over.”

James does, groaning when his cock is finally free, and again as Q expertly rolls a condom down the shaft and then lowers himself onto it.

 _Christ_ , Q loves watching James’ face as he takes him in. Weeks ago he was still working to memorize it every time, as if it were a gift that could be snatched away at any time. Now… he’s still not sure what the future holds, but James’ expressions are familiar and treasured.

James lets him have control for several minutes, until Q is riding him enthusiastically. Then the control and stillness he exhibited during the massage abruptly evaporates, and he grasps Q’s hips and sets a blistering rhythm. And _this_ is part of what thrills Q. All this pent up potential for violence turned to such glorious pleasure.

Q feels James getting close, watches his face as James realizes he can’t hold off anymore, wraps a fist around Q’s cock, and strokes it in time with his thrusts. He feels the twist behind his navel, the rush of pleasure coursing through him as James stills and groans and pulses deep inside him.

Q collapses beside James on the bed, sweat cooling as their breathing stabilizes. And after they clean up a bit, Q drifts off tangled up in James: physically of course, but in his heart as well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the long break between chapters. It's to do with the fact I'm also writing another WIP, but also that these chapters needed more attention to get right. I've not written much poly, and getting the characters' emotions and motivations right took some work.
> 
> Many thanks to Bloodsuitsandtears, Ducky, and Anyawen for their help betaing this fic. It's better for all their input.
> 
> Thanks so much to those of you reading (despite my unscheduled updates) and commenting.

Another week goes by. Two more members of Parliament are indicted. M is spending more time reporting to committees than actually running the agency, but it’s good. An airing out, M calls it. He continues to meet with Bond in person and Q via encrypted web meetings. Several people in the agency are offered early retirement. The smart ones take it.

Q is cleaning house, as well. Personnel as well as projects. And through it all, as the bluster increases in the papers and the office, home just gets more comfortable: Danny bringing him his morning tea now that James is routinely at -6 before Q is quite alert; Alex feeding him up and staying close enough that he’s available if Q has another series of photos to show him as they search for the last of agents who may have gone to ground. They talk more about the actual research now. There’s no talk of actually reinstating the program; with both their allies and adversaries willing to sacrifice Alex to be rid of the breakthrough, it’s too risky. Foreign agents would be looking for it, and none of them — M included — want to do anything that might give rise to rumors that Alex is alive.

Fortunately, few knew what he looked like, and those familiar with his name knew him as Alistair. Q is developing a new identity for him: Alexander Taylor, an agent who has been in deep cover for the last two years and is coming back to work in a new Q Branch team for special projects. Q has been filling in the details of the identity for the last week or so, developing redacted versions of old personnel files to place in the appropriate portions of staff folders. Fortunately, with the overhaul of computer file systems and rebuilding of servers in the aftermath of the explosion and Silva’s hack, it’s easy for Q to slip the personnel files into the rebuilt servers. For anyone checking, it will look as though Alexander Taylor has worked for MI6 the last seven years and was merely on a long-term detail during the unpleasantness of Silva’s attack and Alistair Turner’s disappearance and murder. They hope that within six months, when the news has quieted down and the turnover at the relevant departments is complete, Alex can work in Q Branch with minimum risk. In the meantime, Alex and Q brainstorm about ways to use portions of his previous research in smaller ways to help field agents. That challenge has created a light in Alex’s eyes unlike anything Q’s seen — except for maybe when they found Danny on the CCTV feeds. Q can see Alex’s brilliance so clearly, that if he were interviewing him cold with no knowledge of his background, he’d probably hire him on the spot.

And while he’s at it, he conspires with M about ways to get Danny hired as well. In part, because Alex refuses to have secrets from Danny, and they need to formalize his security clearance. To date, it’s been on an emergency basis as Danny assists in identifying the people who targeted him. But Danny has already impressed them all with his ability to get answers out of Frances, and M seems to have ideas for potential roles in the agency that he hasn’t fully shared with them. Danny seems content with not looking for a new warehouse job and being more privy to Alex’s work.

Evenings are spent around the table or in the sitting room, sipping scotch and telling stories. Q regales them with the story of how he came to own this particular safe house. How his early entrepreneurial career started as a way to earn enough money to leave the group homes and finance his secondary schooling, but after hacking into the books of one of his clients and realizing that they were not completely honest about the legality of the work he was doing for them, deciding that he needed to watch his own back. Bond tells stories about his years in the Royal Navy and getting recruited to MI6, and how his childhood likely shaped both his desire to belong to something bigger than himself and his tendency to keep people at arm’s distance. Present company excluded.

And eventually, Alex opens up about his life, speaking quietly of the time before he met Danny.

“Looking back, I don’t think I even understood how lonely I was,” he says as Danny threads their fingers together. “I didn’t have any frame of reference. All my energy was focused on trying to be what _she_ wanted me to be. First, the good student, then cryptographer and the spy she couldn’t be. And it was never enough. Not enough to earn her… whatever I was hoping for. Approval. Love. And even as I was learning to detect lies and secrets, I was keeping _so_ many. Professionally, I was successful. But personally,” he looks down for a moment, stroking Danny’s hand. “There were so many things I wanted. Things I didn’t even fully understand… couldn’t have articulated. It wasn’t romance. Not _just_ that. And I met Danny and… I think it was the first time anyone looked at me and didn’t see an asset. He saw me. Just me. And I couldn’t tell him _anything_. I had to lie about my name and profession and the details of my day. But he still saw more truth than anyone else.”

“It must have been awful, having that ripped from you after finally finding it,” Q observes as Danny kisses Alex’s shoulder to comfort him.

“At least we’re together now,” Danny says. “We have you two to thank for that.” He nearly drapes himself against Alex’s shoulder, earning a soft smile and kiss from Alex.

Danny’s definitely the most demonstrative of the four of them. It’s seldom that Danny wouldn’t reach out for Alex if they were all sitting together. Leaning into his side or draping his legs over Alex’s thighs to sit sideways, leaning a head on his shoulder. Alex always responds in kind, and Q thinks he’s noticed him initiating contact more as the weeks go on, but his affection is less showy.

James waves off Danny’s thanks. He’s probably the second most demonstrative of them, Q thinks, but he’s more subtle than Danny, slipping a hand beneath the curls at the nape of Q’s neck and stroking it almost secretly as he holds a conversation — just like he’s doing now. They aren’t fooling Danny or Alex, especially when Q still occasionally blushes at the touch, but there’s a sort of English stoicism about it. Q acknowledges he is definitely the most awkward of the four of them, lacking both Danny’s gregarious ease in his skin and the physical grace of James or Alex. But somehow he still feels comfortable.

“Danny sees the truth of you through the lies you had to tell,” James comments to Alex, twirling his scotch with his free hand. “That’s a rare gift,” he adds. Q feels James’ thumb stroke his neck again, and it feels like a message. That he knows Q sees _him,_ too. That he has a similar gift. “But that day we found Danny, you had me tell him you _weren’t_ soulmates to prove to him you were alive. There must be a story to that.”

Danny’s eyes crinkle and dart to Alex. “Can I tell it?”

Alex nods indulgently and takes a sip.

“Imagine a beach,” Danny says. “A dark, starry sky. A bonfire. A bit of something to keep us warm in the thermos…”

“Romantic,” James deems it.

“Right? And so I get swept up in it and ask Alex if he believes in soulmates.”

“Oh dear,” Q says, because he can see where this is going.

“Exactly. Spies are far too sensible for that sort of thing. But then he goes further and says it’s not even a nice idea. The maths don’t work. The chances of finding your _one_ person in all the world are minuscule.”

Q is laughing, because even though he hasn’t known Alex that long, he knows that this is _exactly_ the sort of argument Alex would make. Q’s read enough of his research now to know he’s always running the calculations and working out the probabilities.

“I _did_ say we were good together,” Alex adds, raising their entwined hands to his mouth and kissing Danny’s knuckles. “I wasn’t _completely_ unromantic. At least for me.” Danny leans his head on Alex’s shoulder to acquiesce the point.

James seems to be thinking along the same lines, because he’s smiling as he says, “But the code that did work was ‘one’.”

“Alex decided we were each others’ ‘one’ after all, even if there aren’t soulmates,” Danny says. “It became a bit of a shorthand… non-soulmates soulmates or something. A nomenclature just for us.”

He looks so smitten Q can’t help but smile. Alex too...smitten and fighting a sheepish grin and blushing a bit. He still looks like it surprises him, this newfound affection. Something warm shifts in Q’s chest at the sight, and he feels James’ fingers tighten on his shoulder.

“Actually, now that I have you two here, I should make this survey more scientific,” Danny suggests. “Are _all_ spies far too sensible to believe in soulmates?”

James uncorks the bottle and pours another round. “Whatever flirtation I had with the idea of soulmates was crushed out of me long ago.”

Q places his hand on James’ knee. He’s heard enough of this story to know it was drowned in a Venice canal.

“What about you, Q?” Alex asks. There’s an odd expression on his face. Genuine curiosity, but something else as well. Almost as if he’s still on the fence and could be convinced if offered the right argument.

Q takes another sip of his drink. It’s not something he’s really thought about — at least not since he was in group homes and still dreamt that someone might come and “save” him. And that’s been a long time.

“I don’t believe in them in the classic sense,” he finally offers, feeling three sets of eyes on him, but not meeting any of them. He must be rather sloshed, because he feels compelled to answer without any quips or jokes. “I don’t think a deity splits us in half before we’re born so we’re forced to find our other half, or matches us with only one other person, and if we don’t find them we’re just bollocksed. I don’t even really believe in a soul,” Q considers, shrugging and taking another sip. “But I _do_ believe that whatever it is we have — animus or psyche, whatever you want to call it — does best when it’s understood. Really seen, just like you said, Alex. And when you find someone who understands you and sees you… it makes you want to try to understand them, too. See them. And so you do. You choose to put in the effort. And if you're both _choosing_ to do that.... well, maybe that’s a sort of soulmate. Even if it doesn’t last forever. Even if it’s complicated. Maybe we don’t _find_ our soulmates, but we make them. And we get to decide what that means, how they fit in our lives… And... and it will look different for different people. But it’s the _deciding_ that matters. The choice to keep the people you care about with you.”

Q trails off awkwardly, taking a sip to cover how bare he feels. But James squeezes his shoulder, and both Danny and Alex are smiling.

“Maybe I’m not the biggest romantic out of all of us, after all,” Danny suggests.

“You definitely are,” Alex corrects, kissing Danny’s temple. “I like Q’s idea, though. It gives us all more agency. It’s about choice, not destiny. And maybe the work of staying invested.” He kisses Danny’s temple again and glances at the wall clock. “We should probably be off to bed. James, what time do you have to head in?”

“I meet with M at ten. We can go for a run before dawn if you’re up.”

They clear the table and say goodnight, and after Alex and Danny retreat to their bedroom, Q and James are side-by-side in the loo washing their teeth when Q realizes James has gone quiet. He thinks back to what he said about soulmates and…

Shit.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers as he rinses his mouth. James gives him an odd look in the mirror before rinsing his own mouth.

“What for?” James asks, but Q just motions to their bedroom. He doesn’t actually want to have this conversation where it might be heard.

They retreat to their bedroom and Bond closes the door behind them.

“Q?” James asks, shucking his shirt.

Which is still distracting, even after all these weeks.

Q shakes his head. “I just thought you might have found it… Well, I spoke rather seriously about relationships when we… we’re not... That is, we’ve never really discussed what’s happening between us.”

“No, we haven’t,” James says, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down his legs.

“And it didn’t seem a priority when it seemed rather unlikely that we’d survive the week. But now that it seems our chances of survival are improved…”

“Quite good, actually, based on the information from M.” James steps out of his jeans and tosses them over the back of a chair.

“Right,” Q says distractedly. “Now… at some point relatively soon, we’ll be leaving isolation and returning to work and… well, my flat is destroyed so I suppose I’ll be looking for a new one, but regardless, you… that is, we...”

Q trails off again as James approaches him in nothing but pants, sits on the side of the bed, and pulls Q by the belt loops to stand between his knees.

“Are you asking me to talk about my feelings, Quartermaster?” he asks as he starts on the buttons of Q’s shirt.

“That sounds… dreadful, actually. And not like me, at all. And not terribly British...”

James smirks and pauses to consider Q’s next shirt button before continuing. “Because of you, I have renewed faith in the organization to which I’ve dedicated myself, but always had complicated responses to. Because of you, I now understand that at least some of my complicated responses — especially relating to M-the-former — were justified. Because of you, I find myself with a partner-in-crime, as it were, with equally high ideals regarding ends and equally flexible ones regarding means.” He finally gets Q’s shirt open and pushes it off Q’s shoulders. “And if it weren’t enough that you challenge me and match me move for move in spy work, all your intelligence and cheek comes in this delightful package,” he leans forward and mouths Q’s nipple, “that can match me move for move in bed as well.”

Q gasps as James sucks Q’s nipple between his teeth and starts on Q’s jeans. “You have a delightfully wicked mouth, Q—”

“Look who’s talking.”

“—and a quick mind and a responsive body, and you understand me in a way I never thought possible — and I know I’m not easy, so I know that’s a choice. It makes me want to understand you, too. To choose you. I’m not at all interested in going back as we were when we return to more active duty.” He pushes Q’s jeans and pants down and steadies Q as he struggles to push them away. “That said, you know what I have to do in the field. I’d understand if that gave you pause before deciding on pursuing anything long-term between us.”

Q places his hands on either side of James’ face and draws his gaze. “Does what you do in the field have anything to do with us?”

“Nothing at all,” James assures.

“Well then.” He leans down to kiss James. It’s long and sweet… and ends abruptly with James flipping them so they are on the bed, Q pinned beneath James in a way that’s become familiar.

“What about you?” James asks between nibbling bites and kisses along Q’s throat. “If I’m off on missions for weeks or months at a time, it’s hardly fair to expect celibacy of you.”

“It wouldn’t be much different than my life before all this excitement. Other than the odd pull at the club — which I’ve had less and less time for since becoming Q — I’ve rarely… what?” Q asks when he notices James’ expression.

“I _dearly_ want to take you clubbing now.” James laughs when Q hits him. “Seriously, though. If we were to attempt this on a more long-term basis, I would understand if you needed… supplemental activities… while I was away on mission.”

“Are you giving me permission to cheat on you?”

“Would it have anything to do with us?” James asks, mirroring Q’s earlier question. “I’m much more concerned with being allowed back in your bed when I return. And that you aren’t building up resentments while I’m gone.”

Q plays with James’ hair. Sighing, he finally says, “I’ve never really been much for one-night stands, despite the occasional clubbing. It seems an especially bad idea with my current security clearance and newfound enemies in our own government.”

“Hmm,” James’ voice rumbles against Q’s throat where James is kissing it, doing delicious things to his entire body. “Perhaps there’s an option that wouldn’t be a one night stand. Or a security risk.”

“It sounds like you have a candidate in mind,” Q breathes, tilting his head to give James more access.

“I do. Two of them. I don’t know what their interests are, but I’ve noticed you watching my sparring partner, at least.”

Q freezes under James’ lips.

“Which is completely understandable,” James continues, peppering Q’s throat with kisses. “I’ve had my own thoughts about both our housemates. Nothing I’d be willing to risk _you_ over,” he adds, pulling back enough to meet Q’s gaze.

“You’re serious,” Q observes, his stomach flipping and filling with ice and… he’s not exactly sure what he’s feeling.

Bond shrugs, lowering himself onto his elbows and cupping Q’s face between his fingers, stroking Q’s hair gently. “They are obviously very in love, and I have no idea if they’d be interested. But there’s something about the way we all fit together that I find… compelling.”

“The four of us? Together?"

"The two of us, and the two of them, together," James corrects. "But if you don't like the idea—"

"It's not that," Q says, biting his lip. "I just…" He shrugs.

James hums and traces his fingers along Q’s temple, giving Q time to consider. It's not something he’s ever really contemplated. Imagined — fantasized about a bit — perhaps. But considered as something that could be a reality?

“I’m still getting used to the idea that I might actually have _you_. Get to keep _you_ ,” he explains.

“You have me,” James assures him, kissing him deeply. “And you don’t have to decide about them tonight. If you’re not interested, or they’re not, we’ll find another way to deal with any long mission-related absences.”

"You'd really be happy with that?" Q asks.

James kisses down his neck and chest… buying time to think, perhaps. "I'd be happier if it was them," James admits. "Somehow, that dynamic feels like something that wouldn’t detract from ours. But any option in which you're cared for and happy — and _here_ when I come home — I’ll be happy with."

“I’ll be here,” Q says, and it feels like a promise he can keep, rare as that seems in the world of spies and assassins. It makes him feel warm and secure and light and giddy all at once.

“And I’ll come back,” James promises in turn. It will be harder to keep _that_ promise, Q knows. But then, James will have Q working to keep him safe so he _can_ come home.

Q pulls James close and the kiss grows heated, and there’s no more talking for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's MI6 Cafe's Rare Pair February, and that includes poly ships! So it seems appropriate that I *finally* get to the poly scene that this fic has been building up to since last July. Sorry it's taken so long...
> 
> Many thanks to Bloodsuitsandtears, Ducky, and Anyawen for the beta help. We're getting near the end of this one, but now that the 'verse is established, who knows what sequels or one-shots may occur. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's reading and commenting!

Several nights later, Q is awakened by a sharp cry coming from _inside_ the flat. He barely gets his specs on in time to see James’ bare arse disappear down the hall. He feels for the gun under the pillows and finds it gone. Grabbing a blanket to wrap himself in and the second gun from the nightstand, he rushes to follow.

It’s shortly after 2 a.m. If they’ve been discovered...

Bond is already stealthily coming back from the kitchen, arms extended, gun ready. He meets Q’s eyes and mouths, “Kitchen’s clear,” just as a whimper comes from Alex’s and Danny’s room. Bond bursts in, and his stance changes immediately.

“What happened?” he asks, raising his hand and dangling his gun from his fingers to show he’s not a threat.

“Nightmare,” Danny says. “A bad one.”

Alex is sitting up against the headboard. Hard, gasping breaths wracking his frame as he wipes his eyes and tries to get control. Danny is sitting cross-legged facing him, close enough to offer comfort and far enough to offer space.

“Like the others?” James asks Alex, moving closer.

“Worse,” Alex chokes out, “It was you… they had all of _you_ … and I couldn’t… couldn’t...” He shakes his head and buries his face in his fists.

“Shhh. Okay.” James says, setting his gun on the bedside table and sitting beside Alex on the bed. He reaches for Alex and pulls him close, cradling Alex’s head against his chest — just like Q had seen him do before they’d found Danny, when James was Alex’s only confidante. Except, of course, this time James is completely nude, and judging from the way the sheets are pooled at Alex’s waist, he is as well.

None of that matters, though. The position is clearly familiar to both of them, and a comfort to Alex, whose gasping breaths start to even out as James quietly assures him that they are all fine and being very careful, and the people who had taken him and held him in the cave were dealt with and out of power. And that Alex has _Danny_ now, as well as James, Q, and M on their side, and they are _all_ safe.

It’s intimate, but Q can’t bring himself to be jealous of it because he cares about Alex, too, and… and it’s _beautiful_ to witness the trust between them. It settles Alex almost viscerally. And the fact that they both are willing to be like this in front of _him_ feels like an intimacy of its own. Q wraps his blanket around himself and looks over to Danny, who seems to be coming to a similar conclusion. Danny scoots himself a little closer to Alex and leans forward to rest a hand on Alex’s leg, but it doesn’t strike Q as demanding or claiming… more supporting.

Alex opens his eyes and looks back at Danny. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what, love?” Danny answers, rubbing his leg.

Alex squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and then meets Danny’s gaze. “You’re my ‘One’,” he says, voice still shaky. “I should be able to… I shouldn’t need—”

“What? James and Q?” Alex closes his eyes again and nods. “Alex. _Of course_ you need them, too,” Danny says, jostling Alex’s leg a bit. “They found you in that dark place. They rescued you and found me and created a place where we could all just _be_ for a while.” When Alex just offers a skeptical look, Danny continues, “Alex, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I want that to last a _long_ time. But we saw what happened when we tried to make a go of it, just the two of us. We saw how easy it was for powerful people to take it all away from us.

“I actually think we have a chance now. Because of _them_. They don’t dilute us; they make us stronger.” He turns to look at Q, who is still several feet from the bed, but inches forward at the apparent invitation. “And I may be your ‘one’,” Danny continues to Alex. “And you’re definitely mine. But that doesn’t mean it has to be the only number we care about.”

Alex wipes his eyes again and offers Danny a look so… lost… it makes Q’s breath catch.

“I feel foolish,” Alex admits, after a moment. “I don’t know why it affects me so much… not that you’d been taken. Of course, that feels terrible, because it’s my fault. In the dreams,” he clarifies as they all start to protest. “In the dreams, I always know it’s my fault. And that’s terrible. But that’s not the worst part.” He takes a steadying breath, leaning against James and reaching for Danny’s hand. “The worst part is I’m alone again. And this time, I know what it’s like to _not_ be alone. Which I did before of course, but losing Danny _again,_ and both of you as well… I can never seem to catch my breath. It’s worse… so much worse than waking up in that trunk, naked and at their mercy. It’s _crushing_.”

Q can’t help but approach, drawing close enough to touch James’ leg… use him as a conduit, maybe. “Alex. That’s not foolish,” he says. “You were _tortured_. Emotionally and physically. And despite the fact that we’ve made a safe little nest for you to recover in, you haven’t had proper treatment yet, and you _need_ it.” He raises a hand to stave off the “no psych” that he knows is coming and realizes that he’s still holding his gun. Setting it on the bedside table beside James’, he adds, “And even with it, it may be a long time before your fear fades. And that’s _fine_. They’re right,” he says, nodding at James and Danny. “You’re not alone. And when we get back to something that’s more normal... When we’re not afraid for our lives every day, you _still_ won’t be alone.”

“That’s right,” Danny says. “We only move forward, now, love. For both of us.”

“All of us,” Q corrects, and they all turn to him. But it’s true. There’s really no turning back from what they’ve become.

“Yes, all of us,” Danny amends with a smile. “And I’m not surprised it’s a worry for you,” he adds, turning back to Alex. “Even before you were taken, you were abused. I saw your childhood bedroom. It made _my_ childhood look idyllic by comparison.”

“None of us had good childhoods,” Alex protests. “The rest of you aren’t _obsessed—_ ”

“Like hell,” James says emphatically. When Alex straightens to be able to view him, he adds, “Q can tell you how often I have nightmares. Your reactions don’t make you weak, Alex. And if I’ve learned anything from all this, it’s that… going it alone doesn’t make you strong. It just makes you hard. I feel stronger now, _here_ , than I did after surviving multiple attempts on my life.”

Q rubs James’ leg, offering comfort. There’s a long moment in which they are all just watching each other… settling into this new sense of companionship and enjoying the relief it affords.

“You know,” Danny says, “this bed is really quite large. I bet there’s room for all of us... might help us settle and get some sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asks, and the faint hope in his voice nearly breaks Q’s heart.

“It will be just like my wild youth, minus the heavy drugs and blackouts,” Danny suggests. “Though I think we should put you in the middle, in case one of them kicks.”

When James huffs a laugh, and Danny grins at him before saying to Alex, “You need to be in the middle, love. That way, we can all be close to you.”

James raises an eyebrow to Q, who licks his lips and then nods. He’s slept in piles before in his youth homes, but never in a situation _quite_ like this. James and Alex scoot down the bed and settle again with James' arm still wrapped around Alex and Alex’s head still resting on James’ shoulder, but angled from each other so there remains a wedge of space between their bodies. Danny cuddles into Alex’s left side, so that the only space for Q is the wedge between James and Alex.

He meets James’ gaze, raising an eyebrow and smiling at the quirk of James' lips. They’ve discussed an arrangement involving the four of them, though Q _still_ has trouble believing that it might exist outside his occasional vivid imaginings… Not that _this_ was necessarily anything to do with _that_. This moment is much more about care and companionship than sex. And he definitely _wants_ to comfort Alex. But Q would be lying if he didn’t admit to liking the idea of sliding in between the two of them, though he’s a touch worried that certain parts of him will be more _enthusiastic_ than is strictly appropriate under current circumstances. But then Alex peels back the sheet for Q with a tentative and hopeful expression on his face that melts away any of Q’s hesitation.

Q drops the blanket and climbs in, viscerally aware of three sets of eyes on his nude form. The space afforded him basically forces him to use either Alex’s chest or James’ belly as a pillow. He opts for Alex’s chest — this is about comforting _him_ , after all — but presses back against James. James twists enough that he can drape his free hand onto Q’s shoulder. They are tangled together like a braid, and Q’s _sure_ they won’t be able to sleep like this. Danny twists back to the side of the bed again to turn off the small table lamp that had been on, but then he settles back as he was, his head on Alex’s chest across from Q’s.

Surprisingly, Alex’s breath evens out in a few moments. And after that, James’ hand starts twitching as he drifts to sleep. Q is still getting used to all the contact, but admits it’s nice. Warm and comforting and simmering with a potential that he’s equal parts relieved and disappointed to not confront in the middle of the night.

It’s then that he realizes that he can see the faint glint of Danny’s eyes, open and studying him. He can’t see well enough to discern his expression; even if there were enough light, Danny’s face is just a bit too close to focus on without his specs. He’s definitely awake, though, and as Q watches, Danny slides his hand across Alex’s chest to where Q’s is resting and links their pinky fingers together.

Danny whispers, “Thank you,” and Q is able to close his eyes and fall asleep.

Q’s sleep is dreamless, and when he wakes, he’s warm and cocooned. Wan sunlight against his eyelids tells him it’s early still, and he’s not sure what’s wakened him until Alex’s groan rumbles against his ear, and the events of the night before rush into his mind.

“Danny,” comes Alex’s whispered protest.

It’s then that Q realizes they’ve shifted in the night. Q is pressed into Alex’s side, his usual morning hard-on pinned against Alex’s hip. James has shifted down in the night, so he’s snuggled up behind Q, pressed against Q’s back, _his_ hard cock pressed against Q’s arse.

“It’s our bed,” Danny murmurs in a deep, gravelly voice that does _nothing_ to help Q’s arousal. “If they don’t like it, they can go back to their bed. If they _do_ like it…”

Q feels the blanket get tugged down and opens his eyes to find the length of Alex’s body exposed in the morning sunlight, _his_ morning wood fully exposed for a blink of an eye, before Danny takes it into his mouth. Q groans in unison with Alex, and James shifts behind him to have a look, too, his cock teasing the cleft of Q’s arse.

_Christ_ , that’s… it’s all _so much more_ than Q had even imagined. The feel of Alex and James against his skin, but also the _sight_ of Danny. He can’t help but watch. It’s fucking _hot_. Even more mesmerizing than when he first watched his apparent doppelgänger snog Alex in his old sitting room. He feels himself squeezed between James and Alex, and realizes Alex is wrapping an arm around James’ shoulders and is pulling them both closer as he reacts to Danny’s ministrations.

“I definitely vote we stay,” James whispers, tightening a hand on Q’s hip and pulling him back flush against him.

Q doesn’t answer. He just groans and rocks back into James’ cock, pulling a string of expletives from James’ mouth, and drawing Alex’s attention.

James pushes the sheet down, exposing Q to Alex’s gaze, and then sets to teasing Q in all the ways he’s learned are Q’s favorites over the past weeks. James’ fingers graze Q’s chest, tweak his nipples, earning a gasp and a squirm and a hard twitch of Q’s cock that draws Alex’s gaze lower. James pulls Q back against him and lets his fingers wander — from his chest to his navel, scratching at the line of hair that leads down to his cock. All the while Q feels pinned, both by James’ touches and Alex’s gaze. He feels a tightening behind his navel even as James’ fingers ignore Q’s cock, graze over his hip and down his leg. James grasps the back of Q’s right knee and hitches it up toward his shoulder, exposing him fully to the cool air and heat of Alex’s gaze.

“Hold yourself open,” James says, waiting for Q to understand and hook his own arm under the knee, freeing James’ hand to fondle him. The rough stubble of James’ face rubs against Q’s shoulder and he uses it just how Q likes, over the sensitive skin of his neck. The feel of his rough kisses and demanding hands is familiar now, but made new and impossibly hotter by Alex’s rapt attention as James strokes him… until Q hears a click of a bottle lid and watches Alex’s eyes drift shut with a groan.

Q looks down to see that Danny has spread Alex’s knees more and is kneeling over him, still sucking his cock, but now — judging from the delicious sounds Alex is making — also teasing his opening. And even as Danny does all that, he uses his free hand to offer the bottle of lube to James.

A moan that seems to come from Alex’s _toes_ draws Q’s gaze back up to his face. Q likes Alex’s expression of concentration, the way his chest expands with his deepening breaths, the little sounds he makes, all his attention focused inward as he just _feels_ what Danny is doing to him.

“Oh god,” Q says as James’ slick finger circles _his_ opening and then presses in, fucking _perfect._ He opens his eyes, surprised to find they’d drifted shut, and sees Alex staring down his body, mouth slightly open and _mesmerized_.

Q whimpers, maybe from the feel of a second finger inside him, maybe from the intense look on Alex’s face. He glances down at Danny to find him looking up at them with his lips still wrapped around Alex’s cock.

Danny gives Q a little wink, and then swallows Alex down, drawing another delicious noise from him.

“Fucking hell,” comes James’ murmur in his ear. And the fingers are gone and the tear of a condom wrapper — _two_ condom wrappers — has Q unsure of where to look. And then James is lining himself up braced on one elbow and pushing in with his free hand grasping Q’s thigh almost painfully. But it means Q can unhook his arm from his leg, since James has that now, and brace himself on… on Alex’s chest, because there isn’t enough space between them to place his hand anywhere else. Alex’s skin is warm and his muscles are firm and…

_Oh, Christ_. For several long moments, all he can think about is accepting James into his body. Willing it. Savoring it — his strong chest pressed against Q’s back, the now-familiar feel of his hands and the way he presses inexorably _in_ like an inevitable force of nature, not harsh, but _powerful..._ and Q revels in it. Finally, James is fully seated inside Q, nuzzling his neck and whispering how _good_ Q feels, and Q can finally breathe properly again. He realizes, then, that there are fingers in his hair, soothing him. But they aren’t James’.

Alex has his right hand buried in Q’s hair and his left in Danny’s. Danny is braced on one hand, guiding himself into Alex with the other, hovering over Alex and whispering encouragements of his own as Alex clenches both hands — inadvertently tugging at Q’s hair. _God_ he’s beautiful, his Romanesque features taut with concentration, his chest heaving. James nuzzles his neck again and shifts behind him: pulling out experimentally, but also lowering his body off his elbow, sliding his arm under Q’s head and twisting slightly so Q is on his side again, no longer leaning into Alex.

Q doesn’t have time to wonder why before the thrust comes, nearly taking his breath and drawing a keen from him that draws Alex’s gaze again. And that’s when he realizes just how… on _display_ he is as James fucks him slowly. He feels every millimeter of movement of James inside him, and every broad, sweeping, gaze from Alex.

Danny is braced on both hands, now buried deep in Alex, and fucking _matching_ James, thrust for thrust.

Oh _god!_ That shouldn’t be so hot. Alex seems to notice at the same time, and the look he gives Q as his fingers tighten in Q’s hair again… it’s almost enough to make him come. He glances at Alex’s cock, hard and glistening from Danny’s mouth, and just as untouched as Q’s.

“That’s it, love,” Danny whispers as Alex’s gaze rakes over Q.

James says something encouraging too, his hand clasping Alex’s shoulder as he thrusts into Q. Alex’s eyes are blown wide, and with everything going on, Q finds it surprising that Alex’s touch is almost gentle as his fingers move from Q’s curls to his cheekbones to his lips…

Q glances at Danny, who is watching raptly, licking his lips…

Q opens his mouth and brushes the tip of his tongue against Alex’s fingertips.

Alex gasps.

“That’s it, Q. Get him good and wet,” Danny encourages, and Q sucks in one finger, then two… as Alex groans. He’s never done anything like this, and _Christ_ it’s so…

“Touch him,” Danny whispers, but Q isn’t sure whom he’s talking to until Alex pulls his fingers from Q’s mouth and drags them down Q’s throat, down his chest, and _— yes —_ his nipples… down his abdomen to the narrow line of hair trailing down from his navel—

_Oh god._

“Please,” whimpers Q—

And Alex wraps his fingers around Q’s shaft almost tentatively. The violent shiver of pleasure that wracks through Q’s entire frame must give him some confidence, though, because he grasps it more firmly and starts stroking in the same rhythm.

“Yes,” James groans, thrusting more sharply. Alex whimpers and Q realizes that James has tangled his fingers in Alex’s hair and gripped it as he thrusts into Q.

Q barely registers the desire before he’s wrapped his fingers around Alex’s cock, but he knows it’s welcome as he hears Alex’s groan and Danny’s hissed, “ _yes_.”

It doesn’t take long after that.

There’s a bit of fumbling to match the strokes, especially as they start to speed up, but soon they are all careening together toward some invisible edge. All gasping breaths and sliding flesh and the feel of familiarity that makes this not merely a hedonistic frenzy but something grounded. Something…

Alex arches and… it’s beautiful. The sounds he makes. The way he keeps one hand in Danny’s hair while he works Q over with his other. They all tense, thrusts growing harder and cries growing harsher until finally, _finally_ , Danny gives Alex a _searing_ kiss and Q feels Alex pulse in his hand and spill out across his belly. Danny and Q follow as they ride Alex’s aftershocks and James is just a few thrusts behind them.

And then they are a collapsed tangle of limbs and gasping breaths, growing more steady as the sweat cools on their skin.


End file.
